


Fantastic!

by Saltylocks



Series: Salty + DC [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: A little POV Bruce Wayne for plot, AU, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Lube, M/M, POV Clark Kent, Secret Identity, Secrets, Shower Sex, SuperBat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 00:31:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5395880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saltylocks/pseuds/Saltylocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Batman and Superman had always been on edge with each other, until one evening when Bruce Wayne stumbles into the bar on Clark's block.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Are we becoming friends?

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the same story as "Super!", only in English. You can find it in the list of fics I've written.
> 
> I started writing this in Swedish but it was too weird, so I've translated the first two chapters, and now I will continue this in English instead. All mistakes are naturally my own and I would be most grateful to have them pointed out to me, even if it's stuff like "people doesn't talk like that", "this is a weird sentence to me" or something similar.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Edit 1: Alright, so after some rethinking, I'm changing to " instead of - for speech. Two people commented on it and I felt bad for it now, so I reconsidered it. 
> 
> Keep commenting, I learn a lot from every criticism and praise!

As long as Superman could remember, he and Batman had been rivals. Two heroes staying in their own turfs, the cities of Metropolis and Gotham, travelling their own streets and catching their own crooks. Superman, with his super senses, could always feel when Batman was close by, and only met him by accident when they happened to be chasing the same villain or villains. It usually did not end well and Superman didn’t understand why Batman was always so angry and cranky whenever he was present.

He also obviously knew about Bruce Wayne, the rich heir of the Wayne estate was a world known celebrity and Clark was a reporter, after all. He just never linked the two together, before...

Before Bruce Wayne stumbled into the bar on Clark’s block.

"Hello, hey, you?"

Clark looked up from his book and pushed back his glasses. Bruce Wayne stood in front of him, smiling widely and reeking of alcohol.

"C-can I help you?" Clark stammered, a bit hoarse from not talking to anyone that day.

Bruce Wayne (!) took half a step forward and leaned a bit awkwardly against the tall table Clark was sitting at. His eyes shone as he dragged a well manicured hand over his forehead to push back some imaginary hair out of order.

"Hello you. Are you alone here tonight?"

"I..."

Wayne’s smile broadened. Clark wasn’t sure what was going on, he felt kind of dizzy. The world outside the book he had been reading returned to his senses, and specifically the man in front of him. The scent of expensive cologne, his strong heartbeat, the alcohol, his face that was so close he could see his pores and his long, thick eyelashes... Another realization hit him a microsecond later, he was as sure as the sky was blue. This man was Batman. Under all the layers, the designer outfits and whitened teeth was Gothams protector. The insight took him less than a second to process. Clark swallowed.

Bruce didn’t seem to know who he was facing though. What was he doing here, at the bar, in Metropolis, in front of Clark? Clark opened his mouth to ask.

"W-what...?"

"Mr Wayne?"

A woman put her hand on Wayne’s shoulder. She smelled sweet and seductive, she was blonde and her dress red and tight.

"I just wanted to see if it was you," she said, blushing deeply. "I have always admired you so much..."

Wayne took her hand and kissed it.

"You are lovely," he said.

Clark watched them as they moved towards the bar, his eyebrows furrowed. The book would have to wait. What was going on?

Many hours later, Clark wondered if he had misinterpreted the situation. It really was Bruce Wayne, but he didn’t seem to have some deeper motive to be in Metropolis. Maybe he just didn’t want to get recognized as easily? Even superheros needed a break sometimes, Clark understood that better than most. That still didn’t stop him from being curious. Was Wayne really as drunk as he seemed, or was he just acting? When Wayne and the woman left the bar, Clark followed them. Bruce actually did seem intoxicated, and Clark watched the woman get more and more annoyed with how much he was leaning against her for support. She finally turned him down on the stairs to her house, millionaire or not. Bruce looked a little confused, sat down, and promptly fell asleep, leaning against the side of the building. Clark thought about leaving him, after all, he had put himself in that situation, and it was summer, it would be alright to let him sleep it off. He listened to the other man's slow heartbeat. He almost walked away. With a sigh, he turned after just a few feet. Who was he kidding? Clark didn’t have it in him to leave Wayne so exposed. He didn’t know this side of Batman, but he knew the hero underneath and that Batman wouldn’t like being left out in the open on some street. Clark picked the millionaire up and carried him home with him with ease, tucking him into the bed in the guest room. As he was falling asleep, Clark wondered what made the protector of Gotham get so drunk.

The next day he woke up from the sound of Bruce trying to sneak out. He was definitely more silent than most people, Clark thought as he put on his glasses and opened his bedroom door. He looked out at his unknowing colleague and barely noticed the quick intake of air or the way the other man’s eyes wandered along his body for just a second. Wayne smelled... nice. Had he washed and borrowed Clark’s deodorant? Clark must have slept more soundly than usual not to notice something like that. Bruce Wayne had a face like a panther trapped in an ambush, if that panter also wore a loose tie and a somewhat disheveled shirt. Clark leaned against the door frame and folded his body into a humble position as he could.

"M-Mr Wayne?"

Bruce Wayne’s usual face was back immediately, his public face, a charming smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Hi there, I, eh... I’m just going to go, so nice of you to let me stay here, can’t really say I remember last night that well, but I really should go, things to do, people to meet, you know..."

"Sure," Clark nodded with just a hint of a smile.

Wayne seemed a little assured, almost perplexed, by Clark’s calm demeanor. His eyebrows furrowed a little. Clark wondered if he perhaps should have acted a bit more impressed, but at the same time he thought it was nice to see the mysterious Batman out of water, some of that well practiced behavior falling away. 

"This might seem like a stupid thing to say," Bruce said quickly, "but... Do we know each other? How did I end up in your apartment?"

Clark almost came clean, but he reeled himself in and only smiled a little wider.

"Nothing s-special happened, I think. C-can I call you a cab? Or offer you b-breakfast?"

"Look, I’m grateful to you for letting me sleep in your... guestroom, but don’t get carried away. Don’t try to sell “My night with Bruce Wayne” to some tabloids or something. My lawyers will rip you to shreds, and your apartment..." 

He looked around.

"...too. Not that it seems to be that much in the first place."

Clark shrugged and found he couldn’t stop smiling.

"Insulted by Bruce Wayne himself!" he said. "I’m honored. Are you s-sure I can’t call you a cab?"

Wayne’s eyes narrowed, an expression that reminded Clark of Batman. Clark knew he had sounded too bold, so he pretended to shrink away under the millionaire's stare, lowered his head and looked down for a moment.

"Your s-secret is safe with me, M-Mr Wayne. Scout’s honor!"

He did a little salute. Wayne looked at him in disbelief, and then, he snorted, so Clark knew it had worked.

"I should have known, a scout. Since you insist, yes, you can call me a cab."

He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes for a second. Clark listened to him as he made the call, but Bruce’s heartbeats stayed within normal parameters. He was after all an incredibly fit man, so a night on the town shouldn’t affect him that much. When Clark returned, Bruce had slouched down and was sitting against the wall. He looked up at his benefactor through half-closed eyelids.

"The cab will be a few m-minutes, Mr Wayne..."

"How big is this apartment?" the dark haired heir interrupted.

"Um, a-about 900 sq ft."

"How can you live like this? How can a whole life fit into this tiny space?"

Clark thought about the Fortress of Solitude and then shook his head to get it out of his mind. 

"There are m-many with less, M-Mr Wayne."

"Please, call me Bruce."

Bruce reached out his hand. Clark hesitated just a little before taking it.

"Clark Kent."

"That sounds familiar. I think I have seen your name somewhere, in some paper..."

"I’m a reporter at The Daily P-Planet."

"Journalist?"

"J-just a reporter, I’m afraid."

"I saw your awards, there is nothing 'just' about them. You exposed that conspiracy with Lex Luthor, very impressive."

Clark shrugged. The doorbell rang and both men jumped. Clark reached out a hand to Bruce and helped him to stand up.

"Best of luck in the future, Clark, the hungover man chirped as he stepped down the stairs."

"You too," Clark muttered and closed the door.

He heard the car drove off as he made some breakfast for himself. He ate on the balcony. Sun was just as important to him as food, and this way, he could get both at the same time. He laughed a little at the weird situation before and was happy he had gotten to know the man behind the mask a little bit better. 

He read the newspaper on his way to work the following morning. “25 years since Martha and Thomas Wayne were taken from us”. Of course.

~ooo~

Sometimes, Clark’s strengths also were his weaknesses. His ability to smell was good in a crisis, in fact, all of his powers were. He sometimes felt like a fire extinguisher. Metropolis was a big city and could hear all, feel all, scent all... if he didn’t focus on shutting it out. Books usually helped, even though he didn’t want to shut all of it out. Somewhere, someone might need him. It could be exhausting. In calm places, like for example in a quiet bar, he could even feel vibrations and whispers clearly, even from the other side of the room. People’s glasses being lifted or put down, or if someone were walking though the crowd towards Clark, while several of those around him inhaled and tittered among their friends, “is that him?”, “it has to be him!”.

"Clark!" a jovial voice boomed, and Clark jumped a little.

The expensive perfume didn’t quite seclude the musky scent underneath. He wished he could sink through the floorboards rather than face Bruce Wayne. Eventually, he had to look up.

"Reading in a bar, huh, scout? That’s very cliche of you..."

"M-Mr Wayne!"

Clark silently blamed himself for not paying attention to his surroundings. He had been too involved in what he was reading, as per usual.

"I don't recall much of the night of our first encounter, but I clearly remember asking you to call me Bruce."

"You know," Clark said as he adjusted his thick glasses, "m-most people start off with “hello” when they converse with someone..."

"I’m not 'most people' Clark, I thought you knew that!" 

Bruce winked at him, and Clark couldn’t help but smile against his better judgement, because the difference between the flamboyant millionaire Bruce Wayne and the sullen Batman was so apparent. He also noticed the rest of the bar spying on them, badly hidden behind menus and half turned backs. Clark didn’t like the attention. He was used to Clark Kent being invisible, and he would very much like for it to stay that way. He hunkered down a bit more than usual and glanced over at Wayne.

"Did you w-want something?" he asked.

"Oh, um, yes, actually, I wanted to..."

Bruce looked a little shy, he cleared his throat and also seemed to notice the silence. Something dark flickered by in his eyes before the plastic smile was back.

"Maybe we should go someplace quieter, for a little while?"

Clark left the book on the table and followed Wayne outside. It was raining and they stayed close to a wharf with a little roof. Wayne pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

"Smoke?"

"No thanks."

"Typical scout."

"No one should smoke."

Bruce didn’t retort as he lit up. The air grew colder and Clark already wished he were back inside the warm pub. He didn’t _need_ warmth, it just felt good. Bruce was looking at him, studying him. Clark knew he still hadn’t figured out his secret identity, that this was something else, so he chose to stand there and patiently wait.

"Listen," Bruce said after a couple of drags, "I wanted to thank you again..."

"There is no need...!"

"Don’t be coy with me. I want to invite you to my home. Wayne Manor. Thursday night. Give you a taste of how the other side lives, instead of all those articles from the third world."

“ 'The third world' is an outdated c-concept, Mr Wayne."

"I told you, call me 'Bruce'."

Wayne looked away when he spoke, he seemed sure Clark wouldn't accept his invitation. Clark knew he took a huge risk, but at the same time he really wanted to know what an evening with Bruce Wayne would be like.

"Bruce, I’d be happy to come."

Bruce looked up at him, shyly and genuinely happy, and nodded, and then the fake playboy smile was back.

"Wonderful, wonderful!" he said, before hastily saying his good bye's and taking off.

Clark watched him disappear into the rain. He returned to the bar and his book but he could barely understand what he read, he just reread the same page over and over. His heart pounded in his chest. Why was he so nervous? Was... was Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne really becoming... friends? 

He knew Batman hated Superman and preferred to stay as far away from him as possible. Wayne also didn’t seem know that he was Superman. Bruce Wayne had never shown an interest for Clark Kent before, so maybe this was a random coincidence? He should tell him the truth... But it was so fascinating to see the real person, behind the Batman. They had almost nothing in common, their backgrounds were so different, but they had both become protectors of their cities. Clark had never been interested in being someone’s enemy, but Wayne had always been so obsessed with his powers and his alien side, while Clark always wished he could be a normal person. This was his chance to show he was more than his abilities.

~ooo~

"Looking good today Clark!" Lois remarked at work the next day.

"T-Thanks Lois!" Clark stuttered.

"So, tell me... What’s her name?"

"W-who, L-Lois?"

"The girl you have a crush on."

Clark blushed.

"L-Lois, I’m not entirely sure what you m-mean..."

"Okay, fine, don’t spill. Just don’t come crawling to me for comfort when she dumps your sorry ass," Lois dismissed him, although she winked as she walked away.

Clark smiled politely until Lois was gone, before sneaking into the bathroom to study himself in the mirror. Was his cheeks redder than usual? He didn’t think he looked any different. Why did Lois think he had a crush?

A car picked Clark up the following Thursday. He was dressed in his best outfit, which consisted of a dark green cardigan, chinos and dark brown shoes. He had never gotten his dark curly hair in order and he would definitely blow his cover if he smoothed it back too much, so eventually he just let it be. The thick glasses was on his nose, as always. He was nervous before he even stepped into the car, and his mind were a mess as he walked up the well groomed trail to the Manor. He had for obvious reasons never been at the famous estate before, but he had heard a lot about it. Being there, not as Superman but as Clark made him extra anxious. Inside, he could hear a couple of hearts, servants, probably. He moved up the stairs to the door and knocked. A moment went by before he heard light steps. A small child peered up at him, thumb in his mouth. Clark was surprised, but hunkered down so he was on the child’s level. 

"Hello," he said. "Is Bruce h-home?"

The child just stared at him. Then he sneezed.

"Felix!"

A woman walked towards them and picked the little boy up. Clark also stood awkwardly. 

"Excuse us, we were just leaving..."

"O-of course..."

"Bye Bruce!" the woman called into the dark hallway and swiftly walked out the to the car which just pulled up on the driveway.

"I’m Clark...," he started, but she was already gone. 

He turned back into the house. Bruce came walking towards him, his strides almost soundless against the thick carpet, even for Clark. He was limping, almost not noticeable, and had a busted eyebrow. Clark often forgot that Batman really was a ordinary man behind it all. It hurt to think that he could be seriously, irreparably injured one day. Bruce Wayne was always so polished on the surface, the public did not see all the scars under the suits. Right now though, the heir just wore a pair of slacks and a white shirt, reminding Clark of images of the Count of Monte Cristo, or perhaps Dracula, dark and dramatic against the old walls and low lights of the hall.

"I'm sorry you had to let yourself in, I was practicing kickboxning earlier," Bruce said and gestured to his injuries. "Did you meet Nadia?"

"Yes, and Felix."

"Little Felix. They grow up so fast, don’t they?"

"That’s w-what they say."

Bruce gav him a look that were more Batman than Bruce Wayne. Clark chose to take that moment to hand over the wine he had brought.

"I-I wasn’t sure what you w-wanted," he stammered sheepishly.

"I have a wine cellar, but I’m not sure I’ve got this particular one..." 

"I got some h-help choosing it at the s-store."

"I’m sure you did," Bruce mumbled under his breath. "I think I’ll just put this downstairs so it can mature for a bit, alright? Oh my god, a 2014...!"

Bruce muttered all the way to the basement and back. Clark stayed behind in the murky hallway, looking around. On the walls hung animal horns and paintings of old men and women. 'Richard Wayne', he read on one. Bruce showed back up, a dusty bottle in each hand.

"Shall we?"

The millionaire lead the way through a narrow slanted corridor that flowed into a small kitchen with brick walls and top modern equipment. Some cold cuts and vegetables were placed in front of a lit fireplace. 

"I’d like to say I’ve made all this myself, but it was Nadia, really. She is my best chef. I’ve got more important stuff to do."

The ate with their fingers as they conversed. Wine usually never affected Clark, but in the company of Bruce, his presence... he was charismatic, intense, enchanting. Bruce could talk about anything, and he weighed up even Clark’s gawkiness. The reporter soon felt pleasantly buzzed. They couldn’t talk completely freely, because he knew he then would have to tell the rich man who he was and that he knew about Bruce too. He wanted to wait a little bit longer before he told him everything, because just then his friend laughed out loud, delighted with something he had said, and Clark felt good when Bruce laughed.

Clark forgot the time, and Bruce sounded reluctant when he said it was getting late and he was going to a seminar the next day. He gave Clark a business card with “Bruce Wayne” printed in gold and a sloppily scribbled number on the back. 

"My private number. I hope I can trust you to not spread this to the entire press?"

"Of course," Clark said and tried not to show how happy he was that Bruce showed such faith in him. 

"I don’t have that many real friends," Bruce admitted as he showed Clark back to the front door. "This was... nice. We seem to have a lot in common despite our shallow differences." 

"Guess so," Clark smiled widely. "I don’t get out a l-lot either. It w-was nice to visit your w-world for a moment, Mr Wayne."

"For the last time," Bruce growled and pushed his chin out towards Clark, "don’t call me 'Mr Wayne...'”

Clark stumbled a little on his own feet, and grabbed Bruce’s shoulders for support. He was too heavy for the wounded millionaire, and they both tipped towards each other, so Bruce’s nose was just an inch from Clark’s. Clark swallowed and tried to ignore the wave of scents that reached him and the impulse to let go of his last sanity and let Bruce’s lips meet his own. 

"Whoa, take it easy!" Wayne said and looked into his eyes while smiling widely. "Someone’s a little tipsy, I think!"

"S-sorry," Clark said and pushed back his glasses on his nose.

He wanted to seem cool in front of the masked hero, and now he had made a total ass of himself. He steadied himself, barely daring to look at the other man, who seemed to take it in stride, even laughing a little under his breath. 

"Clark, come on, no harm done! Listen, you should come to the Gotham City Hall after my seminar tomorrow, I shouldn’t be that long. I’ll send a car to the Planet, shall we say, half past eleven?"

"Alright," Clark nodded, "but p-please, don’t send a car. It’s a b-bit excessive. I can just take the b-bus."

"As you wish, but I have no problem with spoiling my friends. I could get you your own car? Or at least a year’s worth of bus credit? Or I could just buy all the buses in Metropolis and make them free?"

"Sure," Clark laughed, "but in that case, you shouldn’t d-do it for me, but for all citizens in Metropolis."

Bruce looked at him with a thoughtful look and Clark bit his lip. Had he said “the citizens” a little too authoritative? Too Superman-like? Bruce smiled then, and Clark relaxed, it didn’t seem like he had noticed. 

"I’ll think about it, scout. A car will drive you home. Good night, Clark."

"‘Night, Bruce."

Clark persuaded the driver to let him off just a few blocks from Wayne Manor.

"If he asks, tell him you took me all the way home. It will be good for me to walk." 

"As you wish, sir," the older man driving said, sounding relieved.

As soon as he was alone Clark changed into Superman and whizzed through the streets of Gotham on his way to his own town. It was amazing being Superman sometimes, to be free, even if his super alter ego also came with certain mannerisms: standing straight, speaking loudly and clearly, keeping his hands on his sides and his hair back, to name a few. He didn’t want to risk anyone connecting his two identities and through the years he had honed his behavior to perfection. Clark was walking with a rounded back, he stammered, wore thick glasses and his hair back in a traditional style, all of which came pretty natural to him anyway. Large baggy sweaters and suits hid his muscular body, and sometimes he wished he could do that all the time, hide from the world. But they needed him and he could never abandon them. 

When it became too much he would fly out into space. Without any atmosphere there were no sound, and he could have some peace. He did that now too, the dinner and the prospects of meeting Bruce again the following day occupying his mind and made him oversleep. He woke up hovering over Singapore and had to fly back to his apartment in a rush to change his shirt and socks and press down the glasses on his broad nose.

"Look what the cat dragged in!" Lois hollered when Clark hauled himself inside the office.

"Do I l-look that bad?" Clark mumbled as he got down behind his desk.

"Oh no, you look fine," Lois assured him. "It just looks like you didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, that’s all."

"I j-just have a lot on my mind," Clark jawned.

"No kidding," Lois nodded, "I mean, this whole debacle between Wayne Enterprises versus the state..."

"What d-do you mean?"

"Clark!" Lois cackled. "Where have you been all week? Bruce Wayne is in a feud with the state because one of his employees sold secret documents that came from inside the White House. Wayne is supporting the employee and paying all her legal fees. There is also some unconfirmed rumors that they have a child together and that’s why he is so protective of her."

"I was just joking L-Lois, of course I knew all this." 

Clark’s insides felt cold. Was this the woman he had met last night? A criminal? An accomplice? And could Felix really be Bruce’s son? How separate were Bruce Wayne and Batman when it came to the law, really? 

"I might be able to interview M-Mr Wayne this afternoon," Clark said, lost in thought. "To get a d-different angle of all the scandals surrounding him."

"Good luck," Lois snorted. "He has acted like a brick wall since all this began, no one has even seen him step outside his mansion in months, the lazy son of a..."

At least not as Bruce Wayne, Clark thought but kept quiet.

"W-who knows," he said instead. "I m-might get lucky."

"Clark, whoever you are seeing, I hope you can keep it up. I’ve never seen you this positive about anything!"

"I’m n-not seeing anybody, I mean, n-not in the way you are suggesting, anyway."

Clark couldn’t help himself from smiling a little at the thought of dating a man like Bruce, to sit down with him like they had yesterday but with no secrets between them. Lois saw him and took the shot without any hesitation.

"Clark, I’m going to die right this minute if you don’t give me something. I don’t need the whole story, or her name, just give me a little slice, I beg you..."

Clark wondered if it was worth it, but Lois looked at him with her big puppy dog eyes. He would be able to keep it fairly vague, he thought.

"It’s just a friendship, Lois. We ate d-dinner at his house yesterday. Despite our d-differences we get along really well and always find stuff to talk about. We like the same moves, b-books and series, even if none of us has that much time to read. It was... nice."

"Aw, look at you, smiling like your face is going to break in half. Hunny, sweetie, I wish you had looked like that when we were dating." 

"L-Lois! That was a long time ago, I-I had no idea you still thought about it in that way."

"No no, not anymore, but I see your face and I almost get jealous on Mr-Just-A-Friend. Are you going to see him again?"

"Maybe," Clark said and couldn’t help but grin up at her. 

"Oh my God," she whined just as their editor waved them into his office. "Please keep me posted, okay?"

Perry White had a look about him like a thundercloud, which meant nothing was out of the ordinary. 

"Kent, what is your task today?"

"I will try to get an interview with Bruce Wayne, I want to ask him about the legal process he’s going through right now."

"Very good, don’t disappoint me. Lane?"

"I will ask the mayor about the brown water that’s coming out of the pipes all over town. I will angle it from the children and women’s perspective." 

"Brilliant, you are already making me cry! What are you standing around for, get me that scoop!"

Clark had to leave work early to pretend to go with the bus and then fly the rest of the way. He flew a couple of times around Metropolis and then Gotham too, with some distance to make sure no one saw him, of course.He saw that Poison Ivy had just been admitted to jail and wondered how soon she would be out again. He was normally immune to most things, but she had poisons that even affected him. It didn’t worry him much, he was more concerned with that the newspaper stand said Batman had something to do with the arrest. Had Bruce been patrolling that same night? Had he had time to sleep? Clark found himself wondering if Batman worked all nights, and shook his head. It was not his problem. 

Bruce Wayne looked as charming as always when they met up after the seminar. 

"I hope you didn’t have to wait long?"

"N-not at all. How was it to answer q-questions from 300 students?"

"Child’s play compared to just a few reporters. Nothing personal Clark, but why choose such a invasive career? I don’t know, you don’t seem the type."

"Oh, I’ve heard that one before. Sometimes you need to ask unpleasant questions to get the right answer, Mr--- Bruce."

"Ah, you are learning," Bruce said with a raised eyebrow and a smile. 

They had lunch at a trending restaurant where Wayne immediately got a table by the window and Clark felt horrendesly underdressed in his cheap off-brand clothes. He also wondered if he was loosing his mind, because whatever Bruce said, Clark smiled. It soon turned very silly, but he couldn’t help himself. 

"Nice to see you again Clark," the millionaire said when they had payed and he was half way into the car to the next meeting. "Look, I’ve got a lot on my schedule this week, but what do you think of meeting again on Friday, my place?"

"My mother is visiting, but how do you feel about my place, Sunday evening?"

Bruce stopped for a moment, smiled and nodded. 

"That’s right, I know where you live too. It’s a date," he said and stepped into the shiny car, that immediately drove off. 

Clark could feel himself blushing as he glowered after the car. 

"Call me," he muttered as he changed and headed for Metropolis. 

Half way home he remembered he promised Perry an interview with Bruce Wayne. He would have to tell him ha had failed. Perry wouldn’t fire him, possibly he would have to endure teasing from Lois, but all in all, it had been a good day.


	2. Keep your friends close.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Read the first chapter and then this, please, or you might be confused.

“'Bruce Wayne on date with tall, dark stranger'," Lois read from the tabloid magazine the next day. 

She turned over the page to show Clark the picture, taken from a weird angle, focusing mostly on Bruce Wayne’s white teeth. He looked happy though, relaxed, and his hand was very close to the tall, dark stranger's, that thankfully enough hadn’t been captured that well by the paparazzi.

"I didn’t think real reporters read gossip," Clark said innocently as he glanced up at her. 

"Don’t even start with me Clark," Lois hissed, glowering. "Come with me."

She grabbed his tie and dragged him further down the corridor, next to the elevators. 

"You were there, with him!"

"L-Lois, what...?"

"Don’t you 'Lois what' me! I can see that it's you, clear as day!"

There was no point in lying when she was in that mood. Clark cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. 

"And if it was me?" he said.

"...which it is...!"

She waved the magazine in the air in front of him.

"I did not know you two were on such good terms! Weren’t you supposed to get an interview with him?"

"I... kind of forgot," Clark said, rubbing his neck.

Lois looked at him, then at the photo, then back at Clark. He could almost see the cogs moving behind her furrowed eyebrows.

"Oh my God, I can’t believe it!" she exclaimed, a hand over her mouth. "He is Mr-Just-A-Friend! You are dating Bruce-effing-Wayne!"

"L-Lois! Come on, we are not, um, dating..."

"But you would like to, wouldn’t you?"

Clark couldn’t help but hesitate for just a second before saying 'no, of course not, what are you on a-about?', which was everything Lois needed to keep spinning, the magazine pressed to her chest. 

"Oh Clark, you are so adorable when you are in love. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me, just be aware that a lot of women in the world are jealous of you right now!"

"Really?" Clark muttered, less enthusiastic. "I feel more like I’ve joined them". 

He felt a little stunned by Lois’ reaction. So what if he had a small crush on Bruce? Wasn’t everyone? The whole world seemed to suffer from kind of mass psychosis when it came to the charismatic millionaire. 

"He doesn’t look unhappy either you know," Lois added, studying the picture closely.

"I guess Perry won't be happy with me for screwing up the interview," Clark said in hope of a change of subject. 

"Let me handle Perry, this is way more important!" 

"What, exactly, is more important?" a voice said behind them.

They both jumped. Perry stared them down with narrow eyes and a devilish grin.

"My two most valued reporters has found something more important than me? If you don’t tell me what it is immediately, so help me God..."

Lois raised the magazine.

"I found this article, sir, I just thought it was interesting since Clark was trying to get an interview with Bruce Wayne..."

"I missed him yesterday, he cancelled at the last minute," Clark filled in. "I guess we know now what he was up to instead."

Perry peered at the paper in Lois' hands. 

"If this wasn’t you two, you would be in so much more trouble. A tabloid? Come on!"

"Sorry, sir," they said in unison.

"Just... go back to work!" their boss barked.

~ooo~

Bruce got in touch on Thursday, almost twenty-four hours before they had agreed to meet.

[Hello], his first text read, [what were your absolutely valid reason to us not seeing each other today again?]

[My mother is visiting from Smallville], Clark wrote back.

Martha saw his smile when he came back with their steaming tea mugs.

"I haven’t seen that particular smile in a long time," she noted. "Someone special?"

Clark made a face. Why did all women in his life think he was in love?

"It’s just a colleague."

"From The Planet or...?"

Clark took a deep breath.

"You know I can’t tell you, mom."

"So the other work then?"

"Yes, and we are _just_ friends!"

Martha crooked one of her eyebrows.

"Sure Clarkie, if you say so."

Clark just sighed and smiled. His mother trusted him and he trusted her. She had never made him tell her anything about what he had to do, she was just there to give him a hug if he needed it. She changed the subject when it was clear he wouldn’t say more about the text, telling him about the boys she had hired to help her with the moving was doing great, and that there would be a hay market in a couple of weeks. She had felt a little down recently, even if the boys had volunteered, to see the rest of the farm deteriorate and the yearly hay market was just what she needed. 

"You should come home more often," she chided him.

Clark squirmed a little. There were a lot of people who knew who he was in Smallville, it stirred so many memories. 

"Maybe we should buy a new dress for the market?" Clark said to get her to think of something else. "I’m paying." 

Martha smiled.

"I know you are just saying this so we won't talk about Smallville, but it would be nice to see how the town’s changed, it must have been ten years since I’ve been here last..."

They walked to the nearest mall. Martha immediately recognized one of the stores and started collecting clothes she wanted to try on. Clark followed in the back ground, smiling at her enthusiasm. A sales manager asked if she wanted any assistance and soon had his arms full of dresses she wanted to try on. Clark did no longer follow in their conversation, it was all a blur about materials and different textures.

"Mom, I’ll wait by the exit."

"Yes dear," his mother said, swallowed up in a discussion on the pros and cons of hemp. 

Clark leaned a little against the entrance to the store and picked up his phone. The noises around him toned down a little as he focused on his phone through the thick glasses, it was nice to have a reason not to listen for a while. He read through Lois’ article about Metropolis sewage system and noted to himself that he probably should have a talk with the mayor if things didn’t turn around soon.

"Clark?"

Clark looked up. Usually no one recognized him, he almost never went out shopping or for anything, really. A dark haired man walked towards him. 

"Bruce?" he said, perplexed. "Why are you here?"

"I happened to be in the neighborhood," the millionaire said and laughed. "Besides, has no one taught you that it is polite to start off with 'Hello' when you first meet someone?"

His seemingly stern mouth was twitching and Clark couldn’t help but smile widely.

"Hello," he said shyly, and maybe he was blushing too.

"Hello you," Bruce said and smiled just as wide.

Wayne's heart was definitely beating faster now than before. Clark could feel his scent more clearly, one of the many perks of being him, but he had no idea whether it was because of it being stronger of because they were physically closer. What did he know, really? His head felt light, like always when he was around the man, and he swallowed when Bruce moved really close, making him lean back against the store walls again. 

"Weren’t your mother visiting?" Bruce said, and Clark cleared his throat, stood up a little straighter. 

"Yes, she is t-trying on clothes." 

He nodded towards the dressing rooms, but Martha were already at the register, paying for herself. Clark had a mild case of panic when he realized she had already seen them and now was moving towards them with a friendly smile.

"Hello," she said when she came closer, and reached out her hand to Bruce Wayne. "I’m Martha Kent."

Bruce squinted at her and then he took her hand like it was something very delicate.

"Bruce Wayne," he introduced himself. "Clark, you never told me you had a sister!"

It was a cheesy line, but Martha laughed anyway, and Clark couldn’t help but smile either, as per usual when the charming man was around.

"I assume you have heard of me, so why don't you tell me about yourself?"

Bruce took Clark’s mother arm-in-arm, and after asking when they had eaten last he drove them to one of the nicer restaurants in town in his limousine. Clark tried to protest, but Bruce was relentless and Martha seemed to enjoy herself, so he soon gave up. They ate, Bruce told stories, and Clark hadn’t heard his mother laugh like that in a long time. Bruce excused himself after dinner, saying he had an important meeting. Before he left he gave Martha a genuine hug, and shook Clark’s hand. 

"See you tomorrow," he cheered and stepped into the dark night.

Clark watched him go. Martha met his eyes when he looked back at her.

"What...?" he smiled.

"What a nice boy, you know, there is so much written in the papers, but he was, really, very..."

"Yes," Clark agreed, "yeah, he is."

He glanced at her and saw that she gave him a certain look. He made a face at her, like he had when he was a kid. She smiled with tears in her eyes.

"Don’t worry about me, okay mom? I’m a grown up now."

"No matter how old you are you will always be my little boy," she said, and hugged him tightly. 

"I know. Did you find anything nice in the store?"

"Yes, a wonderful dress with a belt, and at a discount, can you imagine?"

They took a cab home and Clark made the bed in the guestroom for his mother. Before he went to bed he snuck some extra money into her purse. But he had a hard time relaxing. He was sure Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent were friends now, but he had been so caring with his mother too... Eventually Clark decided that it probably had to do with the fact that Bruce didn’t have any parents of his own. It was late when Clark finally closed his eyes and fell asleep. 

~ooo~

One thing was certain: Batman and Superman were not becoming friends. Superman found out the hard way as he sailed by Gotham on his way home from a mission in China. The barely visible silhouette against the dark buildings was only lit up by a couple of dim street lights. Batman was breathing lightly but his scent told Superman he had been fighting someone, or something, recently. 

"Batman," he greeted him politely as he landed next to his colleague on the dark prongs.

"Supes," Batman murmured without taking his eyes from the foggy streets below them. "What are you doing here?"

"I was in China, so it was kind of on the way home," Superman said and put his hands on his back as he ventured closer. "I just wanted to know what you were up to, I haven’t seen you in the papers as much as usual..."

"Duck, you fool!" Batman hissed.

Superman turned his head and looked down at the street. Two men in suits just walked around the corner, eyeing the building the were atop of. Superman dodged long before they spotted him of course, but Batman was downright smoldering with rage either way.

"Your clown costume of a suit almost blew this whole operation. Leave now, before they get any more suspicious." 

"I could help you, you know, with all of this. My hearing alone..."

"Not interested, it doesn’t matter how many times you bring it up."

"But..."

"Not now!" Batman growled impatiently.

"When, then?" Superman snarled back.

The two heroes looked down at the street, where the men in suits looked around suspiciously. They withdrew from the ledge, but kept arguing.

"Never, you hear, never!" Batman said vehemently.

"Why not? We could help each other out so much!"

"You, Mr Amazing, you think you are so great, you have no weaknesses, where are you even beginning to be human?"

"...says the guy that dresses as a giant bat..." Superman muttered.

"You have no idea what it’s like to be like the rest of us!" Batman hissed. Do you even need food, or do you take care of that when flying to the Sun and back?" 

Superman wasn’t sure how to respond to the question. Batman usually never attached him personally like this. This might in fact be the most words they had shared between them ever. Before, he would probably already left. Batman noticed how he quieted and went in for the kill.

"Next time, maybe you should just fly into the Sun?" he whispered, his words dripping with poison. "So I won't have to deal with you anymore."

Superman did not care for these turns of events one bit. Maybe it was better for them to stick to their separate areas. Everything he wanted was to understand the mysterious man next to him, the many layers, that was mostly enjoyable to have around. Superman gathered himself and looked down at the men in the suits. He could hear them with his super hearing. They talked about the 'cargo', but he could hear heartbeats and feel the warmth of what they were shipping.

"Where are they from?" he said, motioning towards the truck.

"Russia, Thailand..."

Batman huffed as he turned his eyes towards the streets.

"I’m not sure which one," he muttered bitterly.

"What are you going to do?"

"I, Nightwing, Robin and Batgirl can handle this."

So those were the hearts Superman had heard on the roofs around them. They seemed capable enough, but something still kept him from leaving.

"I could..."

"We, no, I don’t need your help! Just go!"

Superman decided to give up for the night.

"This isn’t over," he said.

"Sure it is."

Superman sighed. Batman growled at him, a guttural sound from the depths of his chest. Something about it made Superman all fuzzy inside, and it was a strange notion to know that this was the same man that he would have dinner with in a couple of hours time. It made his head spinn a little, and it was, in all honesty, very confusing.

"Okay," he said, "I give up."

"Good."

"Fine."

"Good bye"

"Bye."

~ooo~

"Hello," was the first Bruce said when Clark opened the door to the stairwell. "I brought some wine."

Clark smiled a what had to be a sappy smile and let him into his hallway. Bruce was limping a little and Clark’s heart almost missed a beat. He just stood there for almost a full minute before blushing and accepting the two bottles Bruce handed to him. He walked into the kitchen to uncork the wine and the millionaire wasn’t slow to follow, his movements certain and still tentative. Clark was once again reminded of how different Bruce and Batman was, how Batman’s soft, catlike movements were communicating a whole other kind of power than Bruce Wayne’s ostentatious behavior did.

The most of the stew Clark had prepared were already puttering on the stove. He turned down a bottle opener into the cork and pretended like it was hard for him to pull it up. Bruce were snickering as he dragged in a couple of heavy breaths. 

"Out of breath already, Clark?"

"I-I guess so..."

They ate under civilized forms, Bruce praised his cooking skills, Clark brushed it aside. They brought the second bottle of wine to the living room. Clark turned on the news on low volume.

"Isn’t there anything else?" the man next to him sighed and took the remote from him.

He quickly flipped through Clark’s minimal supply of channels and tsked in frustration.

"Netflix?" he asked with a faint hope in his voice.

"Sorry."

"Chrome cast?"

"What’s that?"

"It’s a streaming device that connects to the HDMI plug on the TV... I can see you already have no idea what I’m talking about." 

"I’m more of a typewriter kind of guy," Clark said apologetically.

"I don’t even think your TV has a HDMI outlet," Bruce said in disappointment and threw himself back onto the couch.

"Sorry, I just wouldn’t use any of it."

Bruce turned to him, a shy smile on his lips as he switched back to the news on Clark’s TV. 

"That’s one of the things I like about you Clark. All other people I know would immediately offer to go and get a Chrome cast for me just to have me spend more time with them, but you are standing your ground." 

Clark shrugged and blushed again. 'One of the things I like about you' meant that Bruce liked him. In several ways, too. Immediately, Clark felt guilty. He should definitely say something before they went any further. At this rate they would build a strong friendship based on the wrong things, and he didn’t want that, and probably neither would Bruce. 

"B-Bruce, I...," he said and moved a little closer.

"Yes, Clark?" his friend said and drew the wine glass from his lips.

A small droplet stuck to his bottom lip, and Clark couldn’t help but stare. Sitting next to Bruce, he could feel the musky scent emanating from him, along with his heat and his slow, steady heart beat. Bruce smirked at Clark pausing. He very well knew that he was an attractive man. 

"Cat got your tongue? Don’t worry, I have that effect on people."

His smile softened, and Clark leaned back into the couch with a snort. 

"Bruce, t-that’s not why..."

"Then what is it?"

Clark bit his lower lip. 'I’m Superman and I know that you are Batman?' No, that wouldn’t work with his colleague. They would never be able to cooperate after that. 

"Okay, be like that," Bruce said before Clark had had a chance to form a coherent sentence. "We have wine and no channels distracting us. Sooner or later the truth will come out."

Clark looked up at him from his slanted position. He decided he wouldn’t say anything right that moment, because Bruce seemed so relaxed, so at peace, like it was normal for them to sit in front of the TV together, like they were now. Clark had always wanted a home, but never on his own, even though he knew how difficult it would be to find someone to share everything with. He wanted the person he shared his life with to know every side of him. When he had told Lois... it hadn’t worked out. She wouldn’t be able to defend herself, she couldn’t know all there was to it. In retrospect he had realized that it was better for her to just see her as a friend, and Superman as an alien from Krypton. He had kissed her to make her forget all that had happened, and she really seemed to have done just that. Lois was a mostly normal person and she had deserved a normal life. Bruce moved his head towards the TV, and Clark watched his profile in the blue light. He allowed himself for just a second to play with the idea of Bruce.

Batman was so deep down the rabbit hole that “normal life” didn’t exist anymore anyway, just like himself. Bruce was... pleasant to be around. In fact, very pleasant. The problem was that Clark wasn’t so sure Bruce would like to be anywhere near him when he found out who Clark really was. Bruce chose to turn his face towards Clark again, an eyebrow raised. Clark realized he had been quiet for too long. What had they talked about before? 

"I’m afraid, M-Mr Wayne," Clark mumbled, "that you really have made me speechless." 

"'Bruce', I’ve said," the millionaire whined and bumped Clark’s shoulder playfully.

Clark’s senses overflowed. Bruce’s fragrance, their close proximity, everything pulled him closer, and he moved automatically, almost instinctively, to soak in more of him, like Bruce was his own personal sun. Who knew when he would have the chance to do that again? He felt warm and sluggish, and also like something coiled deep inside him, something sweet and heated. Bruce looked mildly surprised to have him leaned against his arm, and some part of Clark wondered if this would be the straw that would destroy their friendship. Then the heir wiggled closer so he could gaze into his eyes. There was this question on his face, but he soon seemed to get his answer. He leaned in, and Clark did not protest when their mouths met. 

'This is a bad idea' a voice inside him noted, but the concerns drowned in all of the impressions that washed over him. Bruce’s lips were chipped and he tasted like the wine and the food and Clark wanted more, much much more. Just one kiss and he was hooked. He planted kisses on Bruce’s lips, chin, neck, everywhere he could, and Bruce did the same, with hurried, urgent movements. They soon laid down on the couch, engulfed with each other, Clark’s hands was in Bruce’s hair, Bruce’s hands around Clark’s waist. They didn’t speak, besides small sounds of encouragement when one did something the other liked. Clark had never felt such elation, it was like ha had just been handed the keys to a new world. He needed more. Bruce pulled the thin t-shirt off him and scurried down so he could put his mouth against Clark’s chest. His tongue slowly circled Clark’s nipple and the coiling feeling inside him came back, stronger than before. Clark buried his nose in Bruce’s hair and inhaled deeply. The next thing he felt was Bruce’s hand against his groin. 

"No surprises there," the man under him gasped, and Clark chuckled, deep down in his chest, and tipped Bruce’s chin back to kiss him. 

Bruce had other plans though, and Clark let himself be turned around so the millionaire was on top of him. His friend’s smile was no longer prissily and plastic but broad, defiant and greedy as he straddled Clark. It was very similar to Batman’s and it was so terrifying and beautiful at the same time that Clark lost his breath and giggled at the same time, as a shiver went through his body. Bruce nibbled on his earlobe and trailed kisses along his jawline, before parting his lips and licking into him. Clark could barely breathe, he couldn’t lay still, he writhed under Bruce with each shaky breath and somewhere he could feel his own erection against the inside of Bruce’s thigh... He froze for a second, but couldn’t help to do it again. Bruce made an approving sound and pushed back, as he sat up and removed his tie and shirt over his head. His naked skin was electrifying as he laid down and let his hand take over. Clark turned towards him but Bruce urged him, with kisses and caresses, in the other direction, so he could spoon him and intertwine their legs. The millionaire kissed his partner’s hair, shoulders and neck, and stopped only for a second to breathe in the scent in the bend of Clark’s neck.

"Mmm," he hummed and lavishly dragged his tongue from his neck to his ear. 

Clark turned his head to look back at Bruce through hooded eyes. He felt drugged, or at least how he imagined it would feel. Bruce’s hand pressed far down on his stomach, close to the rim of his pants, and the hand felt cold compared to Clark’s smoldering skin.

"I don’t even know why this feels good," Clark whispered hoarsely.

"I think it is because you want it," Bruce breathed before pushing his hand past Clark’s fly and sliding his long fingers around his sex.  
It was breathtaking, it was intoxicating, and Clark didn’t know if he wanted to melt into Bruce or run from him. He couldn’t relax completely because he knew he could crush his partner if he wasn’t careful. That was why he laid still and breathed while Bruce’s skillful hands claimed more and more of him. He could feel himself harden as well as his friend’s warm mouth on his neck and hardening length against his back. 

"Bruce," he mouthed, and Bruce kissed him, possessed his mouth, and turned him onto his back again. 

"Bruce...," Clark breathed as Bruce grinned at him again, and made him remember exactly who was touching him.

"I-I’m, I’m..."

"Mmm, that’s right, come for me," the heir growled, and his voice was Batman’s voice, and it hurled Clark over the edge, so forcefully that he had to grab on to something, anything, to not break into a million pieces. 

The living room table became the unsuspecting victim, the wood splintered between Clark’s fingers as he pressed his body against Bruce’s. He exhaled and let go for a second, it had been quite some time ago...

"Clark?" Bruce muttered.

He slowly turned his head. Bruce smiled softly at him. 

"Mmm," Clark slurred, "you are pretty good at that..."

"You are welcome to return the favor, unless you are too tired, of course."

He nodded towards his groin, his eyes dark and wary. He licked his lips nervously, like he wasn’t sure what Clark would do. Clark’s smile was relaxed as he flexed a little.

"Of course," he mumbled and pulled Bruce closer.

He carefully found his way to the buttons in his partner’s fly, and slowly unzipped it. Bruce snorted, firmly took his hand and steered it until Clark met the soft, hot skin underneath. He chuckled and adjusted his grip accordingly. 

"Press harder," Bruce instructed and Clark put his whole hand, still under his partner, over the wet head and rubbed the palm of his hand faster and faster over it.

Bruce’s heart beat almost disappeared for a second and then started to pound at two hundred beats per minute. An obscene sound came from him, a breathless, moaning 'oh!' that encouraged Clark to go on. Bruce was trashing and squirming on top of him and there was a small amount of fluid coming from him, making everything smooth. There were the occasional, muffled 'mm', like Bruce was trying to stifle himself but weren’t quite able to, until he finally gripped Clark and called out once, before his body arched and he grabbed Clark so hard that a normal human probably would have trouble breathing. Clark wondered if he should pretend, but he was too euphoric himself, and could do not much else but lay there and drink in the scent of happy Batman. 

The thought made him wake up a little. This was not only Bruce Wayne, after all, but also Batman that was coming to on his chest, that looked up on him with shiny, unfocused eyes, and said:

"Wow. That was really..."

Clark smiled warmly at him. 

"Yes, he agreed, and yawned.

"Can I sleep here tonight?" Bruce asked, blinking sleepily.

"I would not be m-much of a host otherwise. If you want, there’s some p-pants in the closet." 

"In a minute maybe," the Protector of Gotham mumbled and put his head back against Clark’s chest.

"Take your time," Clark mumbled and put an arm around his friend. 

Just before he went to sleep he remembered the broken table and reached for a pillow that he placed so it blocked the view from the couch. 

'I’ll deal with that in the morning,' he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos? Comments? Yes, please.


	3. Keep your enemies closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it is I, the writer of this fic. 
> 
> Hello.
> 
> Thank you for all the feedback and kudos so far. I hope this does not disappoint. And before we all get down on Clark, let's just ask ourselves, haven't we all done this at some point? It doesn't have to be a partner in a relationship you are stringing along, but sometimes, we want to string things along, drag something out, even though we shouldn't. It's part of being a human. It's all about instant gratification, or maybe for the chance of being a part of something else for a while. Despite it all, Clark is very human. 
> 
> Sorry for rambling, and please, lower your expectations.

The next morning Clark woke up with a start. The sun shone right at his face and he wondered, for a second, why he was still wearing his jeans, why he was sleeping in the living room and why he felt so relaxed. He smelled coffee, and the scent was coming from his kitchen. 

Then he realized. He quietly got up, in reverence. Bruce was sitting by the kitchen isle, wearing a pair of Clark’s old sweat pants and an old t-shirt. A newspaper laid in front of him and he had a page of the Daily Planet in one hand and a cup from the Smallville Tourist Center Clark had gotten from his mom in the other. The smile Bruce gave Clark when he saw him made Clark all woozy. Bruce reached up to kiss him as soon as he got close enough, slowly and lingering, like he had missed him. 

"I made you coffee," the heir offered, and the only thing keeping Clark from feeling total and utter happiness was a small twinge of guilt in his stomach. 

He hid his too-honest face by kissing Bruce on the corner of his mouth, and delight in the feeling of the way his lover’s lips turned upwards when he traced the curve. 

"When do you have to leave?" Clark whispered in his ear, and heard Bruce’s heart speed up as he put his arms around him.

"Soon," he whispered, turning to face his lover, giving him a quick peck on the lips.

"But, Bruce added, "I should probably shower first." 

"O-of course," Clark said, starting to disentangle himself and also worrying whether he had enough shampoo and shower gel. Did Bruce use conditioner?

"No, I meant, you should come too," Bruce laughed.

"Oh... Oh!"

Bruce had a magnificent body. There was no other way to describe him. He was a little self conscious about his many scars, telling Clark he had spent a lot of time practicing martial arts as a child, and Clark tried to tell him how much it didn’t matter as he mentally cataloged every little part of the man’s perfect physique, the way the muscles curved when he moved, his balance and symmetry. There had to be some magic involved, Clark thought, some hidden forces, making Bruce look so irresistible in his normally boring white tiled bathroom. No wonder the whole world wanted him. He noticed Bruce eyeing him with some wonder in his gaze as Clark stepped out of his pants and underwear, the millionaire watched his body in the yellow light and almost making a face of disgust when Clark stood up again.

"See, how am I supposed to compete with that?" he pouted.

Clark walked over to tower over him, just a little bit, locking their eyes together as he turned on the water. His body was just his body, he didn’t even think of it like that.

"There’s no competition," he breathed slowly, "as you are just plain gorgeous."

He could see Bruce’s pupils go dark and the musky scent hit him through the mist of the shower. A second later, Clark’s back was pressed against the far back wall, his body in the stream and his face kissed by the very naked Bruce Wayne. His hands grabbed for anything to hold on to and it happened to be his lover’s very firm buttocks, and Bruce yelped into his mouth and Clark almost chuckled, before Bruce’s length touched against his own sensitive groin. He chocked on his own breath and could hear the smirk on Bruce’s lips as he reached up to kiss his chin, neck and collar bone.

"Too much for you, Clark?" 

"Maybe...," he whispered, his head buzzing from Bruce’s slick skin against his own, their erections rubbing up against each other, the way the water made everything smooth...

He dragged his hands against Bruce’s back, grabbing his butt again for good measure, pressing them together, felt Bruce reach down to rub their erections in his hand, faster and faster, Clark still held them pressed against each other, almost lifting Bruce up towards his face so he could feel more of him, kiss him, rake his teeth along his neck and feel Bruce shudder in his arms, and shiver against him, his knees felt wobbly from his own arousal, he wasn’t sure he was allowed to feel this good, and then he came, without warning, violently, and he fell, slid along the millionaire’s body, moaning, to his knees. 

"Clark," Bruce gasped, and Clark didn’t even think, he lifted his head and swallowed up Bruce’s cock in one go.

It wasn’t pretty or in any way coordinated, but the muffled gasp above him told Clark he was doing a good job anyway, and he kept pushing until he felt the tip hit the back of his throat, and then Bruce was coming too, his whole body shivering, leaning into Clark’s mouth, and Clark swallowed around him, drinking him in, until the heir slumped down over him and pushed weakly so he could lean back against the tiled wall.

"Clark," he sighed, and then smiled widely, and the man of Steel had no other choice but to smile back just as wide, still tasting his lover’s cum in the back of his throat.

~ooo~

The days went by quickly, almost too quickly for Clark. He and Bruce met as often as they could, for coffee's, for lunches and dinners, sometimes at the Manor, sometimes at Clark’s apartment, sometimes in restaurants and in pubs, at all hours of the day when they could get away. They spent so much time together, Clark thought both their cities must suffer, and yet, none of them ever cancelled a date. Bruce started making a habit of bringing little things, mostly wine, but it could also be flowers, or clothes, because Bruce knew he was the money in the relationship and didn't mind spoiling his lover. Clark knew he shouldn’t wear the fitted cardigans and T-shirts, that it might lead Bruce closer to his secret, but he also loved the way the expensive wool felt against his body, how it hugged his curves, almost like his suit did. Bruce seemed to like it too, touching him, stroking the fabric and grinning, like he was laying claim om him through the clothes. Clark loved the way the heir snaked his arm around his now a little more defined waist when walking home from a restaurant, strolling through a park, or just in the middle of a conversation, and angled his head up to kiss the blushing reporter.

Clark felt like he was caught in a haze of pink fuzz. He felt guilty for not telling Bruce the truth, but he told himself it was so he could study the millionaire, learn more about the caped crusader. Besides, the man was known for being a notorious playboy who mostly didn't keep his lovers more than a day, at most a few weeks. The tabloids usually had a page with 'Wayne's catch of the week' mostly featuring young, curvy blondes. The heir never let anyone in, and Clark thought he’d better just enjoy this fleeting moment before the millionaire stopped returning his phone calls and inviting him over. Or, as it were, invite himself over to Clark’s home. When that happened, then he could assess the situation. 

Only, Bruce never let him go, and it turned out, he did let people in. He let Clark in. Weeks turned into months and he introduced Clark to his butler Alfred, his adoptive sons and cousin, no longer living with him, and also explained how Nadia was a distant relative and Felix too, no matter what Clark had heard on the news, and that the whole 'new girl every night' was over played by the media. 

"It’s still going on, even as I spend all my time with you, they dig up some old picture and boom, there it is, another one of my so called conquests. I shake hands with a lot of people, you know."

He shook his head in disbelief and huffed, lightly.

"Where would I find the time, anyway?"

Perry didn't blame Clark that much about not getting the interview, just set him on some other task. Clark mused that if Perry had just pushed a little more, he would have tried to get the article, and maybe then, there would have been some kind of confrontation with Bruce. Now, it wasn't hard for him to choose the easy way out and not reveal who he was, even as their relationship deepened a little more by each day.

Even Batman seemed less grumpy with him, even though Superman hadn't noticed any indication that he knew of his other identity, he just seemed less angry and stern all the time, even though he was in no way welcoming when Superman bumped into him in Gotham. Clark didn't know what possessed him to do so, but he hadn't seen Bruce in a whole week, and he missed him enough to fly over to the neighboring town. He tried to sneak, to be quiet, as usual, but the other man heard him anyway.

"I thought I told you to stay away," Batman said, but there was no edge to his voice, just weariness.

"I guess I can't," Superman said, and tried not to make the whole statement sound like a innuendo. "None of the little one's with you tonight?"

"Sent them home," Batman muttered. "We had a busy week."

"Yeah, I felt it all the way to Metropolis. You got rid of them, then?"

"Of course we did, we aren't some rookies trying our newly hatched wings here."

"I know."

They quieted, a moment of truce. Batman hasn't even turned his head to look at him, and Superman couldn’t understand how his hearing could be so good when he still was only human.

"Did you want something?" Batman growled, and Superman took a single small step closer, before stopping himself. To say something even remotely affectionate would be a dead giveaway, something their relationship as Batman and Superman did not permit. 

"Just wanted to make sure you weren't dead," he manages, a twinge in his stomach at the mere thought. "Would be a lot more work keeping two cities out of harm’s way than one, that's all."

"Still here," the other man muttered. 

Superman couldn't help but scan him. Two broken ribs, some small fractures of the hands, consistent with punching something... But nothing that wouldn't heal. No internal bleeding or large scars. The man was almost superhuman, the way he stood up and glowered at Superman despite injuries that would incapacitate anyone less impressive.

Bruce would be sore, and Superman started planning for how they would stay in bed all the next day, eating strawberries dipped in chocolate, maybe Bruce had some champagne in that giant wine cellar of his...

"Hey, what are you standing around for like that? Dreaming about Krypton? E.T. phone home, that sort of thing?"

Superman looked down on the man in the cowl and sighed as his senses took hold of him again. 

"You don't have to be so mean about it," he sighed, and looked down for a moment to gather himself. "See you around, Batman."

"God, I hope not," the masked hero mumbled, and didn't even care if Superman heard him or not.


	4. The Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark considers passing out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes things does not go as planned.

Clark Kent had pretended to faint many times in his life, to get out of trouble, to make sure people was thrown off his other identity, to have the ambulance come pick him up when he was weak from Kryptonite, for lots of reasons really. His alien physique didn’t have such weaknesses in real life though. Or so he thought.

Now, surrounded by some people he knew and some people he didn’t know, in a fancy restaurant in down town Metropolis, he felt like he was actually, really, for the first time in his life, going to faint. Everybody was looking at him, and he had never felt so exposed. The air felt thin, little tiny sparks danced in his peripheral vision, and he felt sick to his stomach.

In front of him, on one knee, stood Bruce Wayne. His eyes were open, pleading, hopeful. He was wearing that nice black suit he knew Clark liked. In his hands, a tiny velvet box. Inside the tiny velvet box, a ring.

Clark should have known. They had been seeing each other for over a year now. They had talked, about everything, or almost everything - god, how could he had been so incredibly, unbearingly stupid.

His mom was on his right side. He didn’t have to look at her to know her expression, because worry and fear pulsed from her in waves. In front of her, next to where Bruce had been sitting, sat Alfred Pennyworth, and though he was almost impossible to read, Clark could tell he was proud of his warden.

Parents, huh.

He looked into Bruce’s eyes, where the stretched out silence started to show, which could have been going on for a millisecond, or days, Clark wasn’t sure, it didn’t matter, because he had hurt Bruce, led him on into something impossible, and he would never be able to forgive himself. 

"I’m sorry," he whispered.

Backing away, he could see the confused hurt in Bruce’s face as he walked out of the building, out into traffic. He could hear cars honk at him but he just kept backing until he was in an alley where he could change into Superman and fly away.

~ooo~

When he got home, his mother was waiting for him.

"Your landlady let me in," Martha said.

"How nice of her," Clark whispered.

"Clark, you should have seen him. He was devastated, he didn’t know what happened, he said everything had been good between you two..."

Her eyes narrowed.

"This has to do with you, hasn’t it? Because you didn’t tell him who you were, you don’t feel worthy of him?"

"Mom..."

Martha sat down with a huff.

"Did you know his mother was named Martha too?"

"Yes I did, mom."

"Why can’t you just tell him who you are? Don’t you trust him? Clark..."

"Because he hates me!"

Clark had been flying around with that in his head all day. He wanted to tell him but he couldn’t, because Batman clearly didn't like spending time with him. And he wasn’t sure which way the scales would tip, if he would see him as Superman or Clark. There was no way of knowing. And after telling him, there were no second chances. And Clark was scared.

"I’m afraid he’s going to tell me to leave, mom." 

He sat down at the edge of the sofa. 

"I don’t want him to do that."

"You don’t know that he will," Martha said, a different tone in her voice now.

"Oh I’m pretty sure, because whenever I meet him as Superman he resents me, teases me abut me being an alien, all of it."

"Oh."

Clark hugged his legs. Martha was quiet for a while.

"Clark," she finally said. "How many times have you met with Bruce?"

"As myself? Once a week for over a year, probably more."

"And how many times have you met him as Superman?"

Clark frowned.

"Maybe... ten times in total."

"So you think, when he finds out, he’s going to base all he knows of you on something that’s happened ten times or something that’s happened... god knows how many times?"

Clark frowned. He hadn’t thought about it like that before.

"Even though I haven’t met him quite as often as you have, it doesn’t seem like his style at all."

Clark rubbed his eyes and found tears there. He hadn’t even realized he had been crying. He looked up at his mom.

"I’ll try to think more like that. Thanks, mom."

Martha embraced him.

"Oh, that reminds me, he left what seemed like a hundred messages on your phone, so I eventually put it under a couple of pillows on your bed."

"He did?"

"The sound was driving me crazy..." 

Clark zoomed to his room so fast all the furniture toppled over a little. As he reached his cell, he heard a call coming through, and picked up. 

"Hello?"

"Clark, why aren’t you picking up your phone, I just want to know, just, call me when you get this!"

Clark was confused, until he remembered that he had changed his voicemail to 'hello' just to throw Bruce off, and because it had been a standing gimmick between them since they had met. Now he gathered all his courage to not make him believe it was just another recording.

"It’s really me this time," he said.

"Clark? God, I was so worried about you, I’m sorry about the whole proposal thing, I know you don’t like being the center of attention. Where are you?"

"Um, home, in the apartment."

"I’m coming to you."

"No, please, I don’t... where are you?"

"I’m at this bar down town, but you won’t be able to get here before they clo..."

"I’ll be there soon, don’t go anywhere."

"Clark..."

He hung up.

"You’re going to tell him?" Martha said.

"Uh-huh."

~ooo~

Clark found him in less than three minutes, and took another five to fiddle with his clothes.

"Bruce?"

"Clark!"

Bruce looked tired, but he rose from the booth he was sitting in and his hug lingered, like Clark hadn’t just turned his wedding proposal down. Clark hugged him back, carefully. 

"Didn’t you say you were home? How did you get here so fast?"

"Bruce," Clark said, "it's not important. We need to talk."

"Can’t we pretend I never... you know, that I never asked you to..."

"Bruce, it’s not because of that..."

"I just don’t want to lose you."

Clark bit his lip hard.

"I don’t want to lose you either, which is why I need to tell you something. Then..."

Clark swallowed.

"Then we will know if you actually feel like that, anymore."

Bruce looked at him, his eyes narrowing slightly, no doubt noticing the lack of a stutter. Clark swallowed again. He hadn’t prepared this far, for what he was actually going to say. He moved closer to Bruce, to make sure no one could hear them.

"Bruce, I know who you are," Clark began, his voice low.

Bruce’s eyes scanned him, tried to figure out what he meant.

"Oh?" he said, his voice that fake curious tone in it, that made Clark know he was worried. "Well, you should, we have been going out for a long time."

"No," Clark stopped him, "listen, don’t joke this off. You know what I mean. I haven’t always known, but I figured it out, because you smell the same." 

"What are you talking about, Clark?"

He was clearly worried now, so Clark decided to not sugarcoat it anymore. Rip it off, like a band-aid. He removed his glasses. 

"I’m Superman, Bruce. That’s how I knew, and I didn’t tell you because I know you don’t like me, and I like you, a lot, so I just didn’t want anymore secrets between us."

He quieted, not able to say another word. Bruce Wayne stared at Clark, his mouth a little open at first, and them he closed his lips tightly. 

"How long have you known who I was?" he asked, his eyes cold and distant.

Clark looked up.

"I..."

"How long have you known? Don’t lie to me, Clark."

No more secrets? Well, he was going to tell him everything, get it out there, once and for all.

"I knew the first time we met, at the bar on my block."

"Really?" Bruce asked.

There was nothing of Bruce Wayne left. When Clark lifted his eyes to his, there were the dark, calculating eyes of Batman looking back at him. His voice didn’t drop, but it might as well have, the way he lifelessly intoned his question.

"I didn’t mean to hurt you," Clark started to babble in a hushed tone, "I just, you are, well, you, and I didn’t think you’d like me, and that you even would keep me, and then it turned into this wonderful thing. I’m really sorry about standing you up today in front of all those people, because I could think of nothing better than to actually marry you, but that’s probably out of the question now anyway, so I guess all I can say is I’m sorry and is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

There was a snort, or maybe a snarl, coming from the man he loved.

"Why would there be anything you could do?" Bruce said. "You lied to me. Everything you said has been a lie. God, Clark, I hoped..."

He stopped himself, getting his somewhat crumbled mask back into order.

"I’m sorry," Clark said.

"You have no fucking right to be sorry," Bruce said, and he was shaking, like he was trying to keep himself together. 

"You have no fucking right to..." he continued, his eyes flickering over Clark’s face like he couldn’t quite look at him, "...to ever talk to me again."

Clark didn’t even know he was crying until something wet hit his hand. He bowed his head.

"I know," he said.

Bruce looked even more upset by his assent.

"You don’t fucking know, or you wouldn’t have kept this up for so long, this 'charade' you put up. I don’t know what I’m supposed to think. Is Martha even your real mother?"

"What? Of course she is!"

"How would I know? Huh, Clark? Is Clark even your real name?"

"I..."

He had ruined everything.

"No, I guess it's not," he said, not wanting to endure any more of the excruciating results of his own cowardliness. "I should go."

"Yes, you should," Bruce said, hatred in his voice.

Clark stood up to leave just as waitress came towards them. 

"Can I get you guys anything?"

"No, sorry, I was just leaving," Clark said, his voice cracking.

He could hear them talk to Bruce as he flew home.

"Did someone die?" she asked Bruce. "People always look a certain way when someone has died."

"Nobody died," Bruce said, in his normal voice. "But speaking of endings, when does your shift?"

~ooo~

"How did it go?" Clark's mother asked when she found him on the couch that morning.

"I don’t want to talk about it," Clark said in a small voice.

Martha saw something in his eyes and didn't ask any more questions.

"Have you been up all night?"

"Yes."

"You want me to make breakfast?"

"I can do it myself..."

"No, it’s no trouble. I’ll be out in a minute."

"Thanks, mom," Clark mumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the angst. More fluff in the next chapter.


	5. The Tape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce watches a tape and Superman finds out the man he loves has been kidnapped. Also, Lois is kind of a butt, but so is Clark.
> 
> (I'm sorry about the not-fluff, more next time).

“Alfred.”

“Yes, master Bruce?”

“Come here for a sec.”

The butler gingerly walked up to his warden, sitting quietly in front of his desk in the cave. Bruce’s face looked grey, the bags under his eyes enormous. He hadn’t eaten much since his... since Clark had refused his proposal and run into traffic. Quite a spectacle, in it’s own right.

What worried Alfred more was his warden’s behavior after he returned from his night out that same evening. He had put on his Batman attire and not taken it off since. It had been a week, and frankly, it reeked.

But the butler didn’t mind the smell if it meant Bruce was home and not getting stabbed in an alley somewhere, because he hadn’t slept in days and was nowhere near as alert as he should be. However, nothing in his face betrayed his concern as he came to stand next to the millionaire.

“Does he look... deceitful to you?” Bruce asked, his red eyes squinting at the screen in front of them.

He angled the monitor towards Alfred. The Englishman studied the scene unfolding on it.

“One of your hidden cameras, sir?” he dared.

“You were the one who taught me not to ask about things you already know,” Bruce grumbled matter-of-factly, scratching his unshaven chin.

“Just making conversation, sir,” Alfred resigned and turned his attention back to the events.

The cameras didn’t record sound, but he watched Clark’s lips move as he entered and sat down next to Bruce in the booth. Bruce pushed the fast forward button, impatiently, like he had watched the tape many times before. Alfred watched them, talking back and forth, noticing the little movements in Bruce’s body language that suggested he might be putting on a show. He couldn’t be sure, of course, but he noticed no such thing in Mr Kent’s behavior. As far as he could see, Clark was being open, honest and seemed more and more distressed the longer he was talking.

“There,” Bruce said, stopping the tape. “Look, there.” 

Alfred watched the tear fall from Clark’s eyes in what felt like slow motion. There was a twinge in his stomach. Bruce’s eyes glazed over for a second, glancing up at Alfred, and then he pushed the forward button again.

“Also, here”, he mumbled.

Clark was getting up, just as a woman walked up to their table. Clark bumped into her, she dropped a glass, and Clark grabbed it before it hit the ground. Nothing special, just good reflexes.

Albert stared as Bruce watched Clark leave. The conversation with the waitress didn’t end up well, she threw his warden’s own beer at him, it seemed. Then Bruce pushed the backwards button, ready to rewind and watch it all again. 

“Sir, what are you trying to accomplish by this?”

Alfred turned a crooked eyebrow at him. Bruce groaned and put his head in his hands.

“There is nothing, is there?” he whispered.

“Sir?”

“Alfred, I think I’ve made a big mistake.”

~ooo~

“Mr Kent?”

Clark sat up, startled, and squinted up at Bruce’s butler through his glasses.

“M-Mr Pennyworth?”

“I am terribly sorry to bother you, but I’m afraid a rather urgent situation has arisen.”

Clark got up, looked around, and then asked him to follow him towards the elevators. He was a little sanguine abut the reason for the butler's presence, but didn’t dare to hope.

“Are we safe to talk here?” Alfred murmured as soon they were out of hearing range from the other reporters. 

“What is it, Alfred?” Clark said. “Did B-Bruce send you for something?” 

“Master Wayne has gone missing,” Alfred intoned, peering through his glasses. “He’s been gone about a week, now. I am starting to become a bit worried for him. The last thing he said before he vanished was that you had good connections, so if anything unexpected occurred, you were the one to call.”

Clark immediately straightened up, his mind racing, and he hoped nothing but concern showed on his face. 

“Oh,” he said, pushing his glasses back. “Bruce s-said that?”

“Was he wrong?” Alfred asked.

“No, no, he was t-totally right,” Clark assured him. “I’ll just go, um, pass this i-information along to those connections as soon as p-possible.”

“Thank you,” Alfred said softly.

Clark saw him off, his fists clenched. He hadn’t heard from Bruce in two weeks, he thought they both just needed some space (in his case, literally), and now he was missing? Would Bruce be mad at him for finding him again? What had he been up to? If he was in some sort of real trouble, would he have told Clark? Surely there was no harm in finding him, making sure he was alright? Alfred’s worry seemed reason enough. He prepared to step in an elevator to the roof, hands on his collar, only to bump into Lois Lane.

“Was that Bruce Wayne’s butler?” she piped, astonishment in her voice.

“L-Lois, I can’t talk to you right now, I-I have to...”

“Always rushing off, huh?” Lois sighed, not seeing the desperation in his eyes. "You look terrible, you know that, Clark? Your skin’s gray, you have bags under your eyes, you don’t work, you just sit there. It’s because of that guy, isn’t it? Why don’t you let him handle himself for once, I mean, come on...!”

“Lois, you don’t understand,” Clark tried, wiggling out of her grip. “It was you who said I shouldn't come to you when he d-dumped me, right? Now please, let me go.”

His head swirled with nightmarish images of Bruce tied up somewhere in a basement, Bruce beaten up in an alley, Bruce bleeding out...

Lois was still trying to hold on to him, her face a mix of concern and smugness.

“He dumped you?” she exclaimed. “Oh come on, Clark, and now you are running to him? He’s not _worth_ it, Clark. Let's just go, let’s leave work early, we can go have a couple of drinks, like we used to...”

Her arm tugged him away from the elevators, and it became too much for Clark, he knew everything she said was true and all, but both Batman and Bruce could be somewhere out there, maybe even dying, and he couldn't have that on his conscience, no matter how much the thought of meeting Bruce again made him cringe.

“Oh Cla-ark...,” Lois said in a sing-sang voice, and her tugging at his arm, the images of Bruce in danger in his head, the echo of Alfred's tone of voice when he said ‘situation’ and ‘missing’... It was overwhelming, and finally, Clark snapped. 

“No, Lois,” he growled, no longer able to keep his tone polite, “now, LET ME GO!”

The whole office came to a stand still as timid, invisible Clark Kent suddenly became the center of attention. He looked around, and took some awkward steps away from Lois. 

“I need some air,” he declared, blushing, and got into the elevator. His suit fell of him as soon as the doors closed, the last he saw was Lois’ shocked face, and Superman shot off into the air a minute later.

His senses honed in on Bruce’s scent, his heartbeat, his voice, sifting through all the information reaching his brain. He opened up completely to the world, and all of it hit him like a tidal wave, and Clark just listened until he heard it, one single strand of sounds that belonged to Bruce, and the rest of the world disappeared again as he followed it, to an old warehouse by the docks in Gotham. 

Bruce were inside, as well as a couple of heartbeats, and also, an old enemy, a man that didn't seem to disappear no matter how many times Superman exposed him and put him jail. Clark didn't need the second clue, a polished Rolls’ Royce discretely parked between some boats further away.

“Luthor, you infestation,” Clark hissed darkly under his breath. 

Bruce’s heartbeat was slow and irregular, and something else was wrong too, Clark realized, and then he felt the creeping feeling along his spine. Kryptonite, close to where Bruce was tied up. 

He landed on the ground. If he stayed around the building, or went inside, he would be weakened. He still had his strength, but prolonged exposure would turn his insides to liquid and corrode his skin. He certainly wouldn't be able to save Bruce like that. In that same moment, one of Luthor’s henchmen kicked Bruce in the chest, and Clark could hear the sickening sound of Bruce’s ribs cracking, puncturing his left lung.

Time was running out.


	6. The Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this might seem a bit rushed but I'm trying to get to the good parts. More fluff then.
> 
> I felt a little frustrated about how little carnal pleasures there were in this besides the beginning (plot happened, and don't worry, there will be contact between our two heroes again) so I wrote a PWP about a OC space witch separating Bruce/Batman and Clark/Superman into four different people. If you want to read that, you can find it here: [ Quaternity ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5440667)
> 
> Happy New Year!

“Where is he?!” 

Luthor had arrived in person and begun to scream at Bruce after the first two days of starvation. “Why hasn't he rescued you yet?”

Bruce had licked his lips to buy some time. They were dry, his tongue felt like a dead animal and his voice just as gruff as when he was Batman.

“I have no idea who you are referring to. My butler?”

“Superman, of course!” Luthor roared.

Bruce inhaled and exhaled slowly. He had left his clothes, showered in one of his penthouse apartments, gone out to a bar hoping to drink so much he forgot all about Clark, then been kidnapped as he stepped out to smoke, and now... his best suit had been ruined. Thankfully, his identity as Batman wasn't discovered, so Luthor didn't expect that much of him. 

“I tracked him to your home. He leaves a special radiation signature and I was able to track and follow it to you. You two have something going on, and when I find out what...”

He smiled triumphantly. Bruce shrugged and immediately regretted it, his arms almost turning out of his sockets, the chain keeping his wrists over his head digging into his skin. 

“Look, Luthor, I really can't help you here, and my hands hurt like you wouldn't _believe_. So what, you tell me Superman has been sneaking around on my property? What can I do? I’ll file a police report as soon as you let me down. If you do it now, I might even see through my fingers on this whole kidnapping business you’ve got going on here. What do you say, old sport?”

Luthor had, surprisingly, not let him down. He had, instead, snarled and left Bruce alone, bright lights in his face, making sleep impossible. 

Bruce had really hoped Clark would come to his rescue, soon. He wasn’t too optimistic though, especially after the way things had... unfolded. He had plenty of time to mull it over in that cold warehouse, not sleeping, all alone. God, he missed him so much, he realized, lying on a cold concrete floor. He had been so stupid. He closed hit eyes against the lights and remembered everything he missed about Clark, his smile, his eyes, the way he said ‘hello’ in that ridiculous soft voice whenever they met. He missed the sex, the way Clark pushed his glasses up when they slipped down his nose, the way he blew away his hair when it fell into his eyes and the way he moved, careful, attentive in everything he did... Bruce hurt from thinking about how he might have chased away the one good thing in his life, but that hurt was different from the hurt Luthor’s thugs caused him, and thinking about ways to apologize to Clark kept him sane, because he knew he had to stay alive in order to do that.

~ooo~

“Luthor!”

Luthor turned around, insanity making his eyes glitter.

“Superman! Get him, boys!”

Clark tensed against the Kryptonite rays and quickly took out Luthor’s thugs while he still had his strength. He tried to get closer to Bruce, but the Kryptonite was too powerful, it hurt too much. Behind him, Luthor laughed.

“Forget it Superman, it is Kryptonite class 8, I got it from Switzerland! There is no way you will survive it!”

Clark looked around. He could feel himself already weakening, and he wouldn’t be able to break the chains. He needed something else, and fast.

The keys was in Luthor’s back pocket, and Superman used his last remaining strength to buff into and restrain the purple clad man, and he managed to sluggishly tie him up like a Christmas pig, feet and hands together. Luthor was still laughing.

“Forget it Superman, I can feel your fingers are already numbing, your breathing is labored. You are going to die in here!”

Clark shook his head, grabbed the keys and ran up to Bruce. The heir’s eyes had been closed against the white light flooding every inch of his confinement, but now they cracked open to peer at his savior. 

“Cl- Superman,” he wheezed, no voice left, “you came...”

“Couldn’t leave you with that lunatic, now, could I?” Clark whispered, his hands fumbling, his vision blurred, but finally finding the lock.

“The kryptonite,” Bruce realized, eyes big. “You need, nngh, need to get out of here...”

“Not without you,” Clark hissed against the shooting pains that seemed to flare up in every cell in his body at once, as the lock opened and Bruce dropped, and Superman fell down with him. 

His head felt woozy, he wanted to puke, he tried to get away but he couldn’t figure out which way was up or how he was supposed to coordinate such a movement, because his limbs felt like lead. As he lost consciousness, he hoped someone had heard them fighting, someone who could call for help, because he weren’t able to help anyone anymore.

When Clark woke up again, he was lying a few feet from the storage facility. Something held him down and in the dark, his vision still blurred, he couldn’t make out what was lying on top of him, heavy like a bag of potatoes. A moment later he realized it was Bruce. Clark wasn’t sure if he was still breathing but then the man wheezed and cracked an eye open to peer at him. He tried to smile but it looked like a grimace.

“The Kryptonite?” Clark whispered.

“I threw it in the ocean,” Bruce wheezed, “after I dragged you out.” 

Clark just stared at him in wonder. He still felt the effects of the Kryptonite but it was remote, he could breathe and he didn’t hurt as much as before. Bruce must have been able to throw it several hundred feet into the ocean. Clark checked, and yes, he had been right, the heir’s rib had broken through his pulmonary sack, causing him to wheeze as he talked, his face contorted in pain and struggling against the chock.

“There’s no way you are human,” Clark said, astonished, beat up, honest to a fault.

Bruce just peered at him for a second, and then, his eyes welled up and he started to cry. It wasn’t anything beautiful or graceful about it, his whole body just gave in to the hurt and trauma of being denied sleep and food for a week, and not being able to breathe. Clark gathered up the last of his remaining strength and cradled the broken man in his arms, not saying anything. When he felt strong enough, he lifted him up and flew them to the nearest hospital. Limping inside, he made sure Bruce was well taken care of before dozing off in chair in the waiting room, not caring much about the curious eyes of the other patients.

 

~ooo~

Clark woke up to a little girl patting his out stretched leg and then running away, giggling in delight. A couple of other children stood a bit further away, their eyes huge, all dressed the same, suggesting they were a part of a field trip. The mother of the child looked mortified, and though Clark could still feel the after effects of the Kryptonite draining him, he couldn’t help but smile at the little girl. She smiled back, ran up to him and smacked his leg again. Some of the older children giggled, and were hushed by their teacher, who was just as wide-eyed.

“Cassie, stop harassing the nice man,” the mother chided the girl, picking her up. 

“There’s no problem,” Clark said, standing up slowly. “Playing is an important part of a child’s development, and I can see Cassie here has great potential. Good morning, m’am.”

Clark still felt a little wobbly, he needed sun. The children looked bummed out when he walked passed them towards the main desk, like they had been standing around just to se him sleep.

“There is a man in...” Clark listened. ”...room 217. When he wakes up, tell him...”

A million coded messages flew through his mind. Was Bruce even interested in seeing him? He had been unconscious by the time they had arrived and the ER nurses had put needles in his arms and an oxygen mask on his face, but he had been holding on to Clark’s hand so tightly.

“Tell him Superman said ‘Hello’,” Clark said, finally. “He’ll know what it means.”

The nurse just looked at him, and she had the same expression on her face as Lois had, like his mother had, like all the women around him talking about Bruce, only maybe a little more severe, considering the environment.

“Don’t worry, Superman,” she said, winking at him, “I’ll tell him as soon as he wakes up.”

“Thank you, miss,” Clark said, saluted the kids and almost walked off, until he remembered something else.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Can I borrow your phone?”

“Of course.”

He dialed the police station and asked for David Coporon.

“David, I’ve left a present for you and the guys down at the docks, if you feel so inclined. You might want to bring a forensics team, too.”

He thanked the nurse at the desk, who beamed at him, saluted the children and walked outside. The sunlight made him strong enough to get home in one jump and out of his clothes, but he put on a pair of shorts, grabbed his cellphone and stretched out on the balcony.

“H-Hi Perry,” he said in a hoarse voice, “yep, got d-down with something, working from home t-today, yeah, I got something big, t-talk to you later, yeah, bye.”

Then he promptly fell asleep, gathering sun and not trying to worry too much about the broken hero in the hospital a few blocks away.

~ooo~

Clark woke up at dusk, disoriented and hungry, the phone ringing in front of his face. Stomach rumbling, he opened the fridge door and answered the phone at the same time.

“Hello,” he said.

“Clark,” a low voice said.

Clark took a deep breath.

“How are you?” he asked, taking a swig from the carton.

“Oh, I’m fine," Bruce said, "good as new. The doctor’s says I’ll be up and running in no time. I’m being moved by helicopter tonight, back to my private wing at Mercy General.”

“I see.”

He was still in Bruce Wayne mode, which Clark knew meant that he was worried. There was this eerie quiet between them, it seemed to span oceans, and he didn’t want to strain Bruce more by trying to figure out things to say.

“I’ll see you around, I guess,” the man of Steel said, squeezing the carton just a little too hard. “Focus on getting better, you know... Take care.”

“Wait, don’t hang up.”

Clark shivered, and walked back to the balcony.

“I’m still here,” he said when Bruce kept quiet.

“I just... how are you?”

“I’m...”

Hurting? Every inch of my skin crawling? Weak? Nothing a little hanging in front of the sun can’t fix?

“I’ve just never seen you like that,” Bruce added, in a soft voice, “you know in the past year, or maybe longer, I’ve seen you as someone invincible, both as Clark and as Superman. After he hung that rock up, the only thing that could hurt you, right there with me, I thought, no way is he going to come for me, not after I basically called him a liar and to fuck off. At first, I pretended, but you know, there’s only so long you can go sleepless and hungry before the last shred of hope is taken from you, and then I reconciled, that you wouldn’t, why would you, right? But... you came for me, and you were so hurt, and in so much pain, more than I was, and believe me, I was in pretty bad shape and all, but you pushed through and saved me, and I, God, I had never been in more pain or so horny in my entire life.”

That elicited a small laugh from Clark, too tired to think about what was appropriate. 

“If your laughing, at least you are feeling better?” Bruce ventured.

“I’m sort of dulled and numb,” Clark admitted. “I might even have some trouble taking you on in a fight.”

“Really?” 

Bruce sounded intrigued. Clark drank some juice. 

“I need some time to soak in some sun, but I’ll soon be good as new, no harm done.”

Bruce went quiet again for a second, and then he exhaled before starting to speak in a hurried voice.

“Clark, I have to confess something to you. Something I’ve should have told you a long time ago.”

Clark perked up his ears. Then Bruce started to cough heavily, there was some other voices shouting out orders, and the line clicked.

Clark listened, but his senses were still dulled and he couldn’t make out anything as far as the hospital. He stayed in the sun and when it set he was strong enough to fly through the atmosphere to hower outside the atmosphere and soak in the unfiltered rays. He knew he was back when the noises came back at full volume, overwhelming him in their intensity. Bruce’s heartbeat sounded just as strong as before. He wondered, as he flew back to change for work, what had made Bruce upset enough to not be able to continue.


	7. The Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce visits Clark at the Daily Planet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I kid you not, I've been writing like ten different "endings" to this chapter over the holidays, and finally I decided there won't be an ending here, just some reconciliation, and some loose ends that will be picked up in later chapters. 
> 
> I hope this is acceptable, because it will just have to do (I might post some of my other endings as bonus material when I finish the fic). 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who told me they liked "Fantastic!", I will try not to disappoint you, but as Terry Gilliam says, "please lower your expectations."

When Clark came back to work a couple of days after being exposed to the kryptonite, he still didn’t feel like himself, but he had run out of excuses to stay home. Lois saw him come in and walked towards him as he took his coat off by his desk.

“Where have you been?” she hissed, eyes glowing. “You have some nerve, I’ve been calling...!” 

Clark slowly turned towards her, and her face immediately fell, as she lifted her hand to her chest for a second.

“Whoa, you really have been down, haven’t you?”

Clark shrugged and looked away, rubbing his eyes a little. He had been hanging in front of the sun for almost two days, and had barely eaten, which always gave him a somewhat pale, haggard look. He knew he would have to explain himself to Lois at some point, make up for his behavior, but right now he just wanted some peace and quiet.

She wouldn’t let him, though.

“Clark,” she said, “I don’t... please tell me what’s wrong.”

‘What’, he thought, ‘my boyfriend and I had an argument and then I saved his life, and I miss him’? 

He wasn’t sure he could get through a sentence like that, especially after her saying Bruce wasn’t worth it. Besides, what if she asked what the argument had been about? He was too frustrated to think right now.

“Lois,” he murmured, “I’m sorry that I yelled at you before, but I’m really tired, and I’d like to focus on work, right now.”

Lois gasped a little. He looked up at her, and noticed her staring, and realized he had let his mask drop, just a little, not stuttering. Clark also noticed he didn’t care. This was clearly even worse than he had previously thought.

“I’ll come back later,” Lois whispered, “But Clark, don’t think this is over. I’m still pissed at you.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he said, rubbing his face.

He was just pushing everyone away, wasn't he? Clark felt like crying, like crushing something under his feet, ripping something apart with his hands, but he was too exposed, and flying off right after getting back to work would be suspicious. He focused on looking like he was writing something important instead.

His phone dinged in his pocket a few hours later. He ignored it. After fifteen minutes, another ding. He just laid the final touches to the story he had started on earlier, “Lex Luthor buys his way out of prison - again!” when the third ding was heard.

[Clark, I need to talk to you. Meet me outside the Planet.], read the first message.

[It’s about that thing I didn’t tell you, but it’s best if we talk privately.], the second one said.

[That’s it, I’m coming up.]

Clark listened, and could clearly hear Bruce’s heartbeat, almost on his floor. When the elevator dinged, he warily look up. The heir strode past him, over the floor towards Perry’s office, like he had been there many times before. He did not give his colleague even the slightest hint of recognition. Clark curiously watched Bruce’s backside as Perry let him in. What was the millionaire doing?

Clark listened. Bruce was making some sort of deal, or statement, inside. He still hadn’t gotten all his hearing back, and the words sounded jumbled, like they were talking under water. A minute later, Perry was shouting, and a couple of minutes after that, the editor in chief opened the door, waving at Clark.

“Kent, get in here!”

Clark stood up carefully and walked over to the impatient man, his colleagues staring at him, Lois too, mouthing “what’s going on?” at him. He could only shrug. Perry White closed the door behind him, glowering at the millionaire leaning lazily against the window.

“Kent, Mr Wayne here has approached me with a proposition. He has also asked me to leave you two alone to discuss it.”

The reporter stared blankly at the heir, amazed by how well he looked, his eyes sparkling, his hair shiny and perfect in every way, not a speck of dust on his suit. Bruce’s smile turned a little wider, his eyes turned softer, and Perry cleared his throat. Clark blinked and tried to shake the feeling of quiet dread creeping up his spine.

“I’m s-sorry,” he said, turning to his editor, “um, what, what proposition?”

“He’d like to, as he put it, ‘borrow you’ to write his memoars,” Perry said, grabbing his coat and hat. 

Clark tried to gather himself, and did with some difficulty, by turning away from the heir and addressing his editor instead.

“Sir, are you o-okay with this?”

“Don’t look at me, Kent,” his boss said. “Besides this past week, you haven’t haven’t done anything but been an exemplary reporter. I would hate to see you go, but it’s up to you, son.”

Perry shot a glance at Bruce and then pointedly pressed his hat down on his head. 

“I’ll be back at one.”

Bruce detached from the wall only when the office door slammed shut, his eyes crinkling in an actual smile.

“He has a certain feel, doesn’t he, like he’s the headmaster at some fancy boarding school and you’re a student in detention?”

“Perry certainly is one of a kind,” Clark agreed, straightening up a little now that there was just the two of them. “Bruce, what are you doing here?”

“Didn’t you hear? I’m proposing you for a book.”

“No, I mean, really? I couldn’t hear what you were saying before, through the door. My senses are still a little affected.”

“Are you alright? You do look a little... thin.” 

Bruce took a step forward, clearly concerned, but them seemed to reel himself back in, pausing awkwardly and folded his hands behind his back. Clark noticed all of it as he nodded, feeling the irritation returning, created by the distance between them where he wanted none.

“I’ll be fine,” he promised.

“To answer your question,” Bruce continued, “I was really just looking to get some private time with you, and since this is where you work, I figured it was the best place to go. The memoirs thing I told White was really just a cover.”

“You certainly made an entrance, walking in like you owned the place... Oh god, you didn’t buy the Planet, did you?” 

“No, no,” Bruce laughed, “I just...”

His smile fell. 

“I wanted to talk to you, about Luthor.”

“Yeah, he escaped again. David’s a good man but he isn’t infallible.”

“That was not really what I wanted to talk about.”

Bruce leaned against Perry’s desk. Clark stayed silent, letting the man gather himself.

“I know Luthor has technology that can follow Superman’s radiation signal and subsequently, his movements... your movements. Now that he’s out of jail again, he might try something again, worse than before. The trackers he’s using are very good at cataloging information, and he might use it to get to you somehow.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Bruce looked pale, guilty. Clark didn’t want to ask, but he feared the worst.

“How do you know so much about Luther’s tech?” he ventured.

Bruce squinted at him, ready to lie, and then bowed his head as he realized Clark already knew.

“Because... I sold it to him.”

Clark didn’t know what to say. The silence seemed to stretch out for an eternity.

“I see,” he finally whispered. “That’s... not good.”

Bruce looked up at him and then down again, shuffling a little. A million thoughts flew through Clark’s head, their time together, putting things in perspective. He knew he had no right to be pushy, no claim on the millionaire in front of him. 

“So,” the reporter said, “ why, exactly, did you have that tech in the first place?”

“Well, that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?” Bruce said in a thin voice. 

The heir lifted his gaze, those beautiful blue eyes, filled with grief and regret as he spoke, more than Clark had ever heard him.

“I was thinking of joining you, after all your talk on how two heroes can help each other, look out for the other and their city, you know. I was, however, not sure I could tell you just like that. I have a family to protect, Clark, I needed to know they were safe. I wanted to study you first, so, I got the mayor of Metropolis to install these little things, ‘pollution meters’, all from Wayne Enterprises, which measured both the amount of air particles and also when a certain radiation signal passed their way. There are thousands of these placed all over the city of Metropolis.”

“I was there when they introduced them,” Clark nodded, uneasy. “I helped put some of them up.”

“And I used them to spy on you,” Bruce sighed, patting his hair back in that nervous way. “Like I said, I didn’t know you and needed to know I could trust you...”

“By spying on me?” 

Clark raised an questioning eyebrow.

“I didn’t know who you were!” Bruce argued defensively. “If had known you then like I do now, I would never have done it.”

Clark just peered down at him, silent. He had found it to be quite intimidating.

“What’s done is done, Bruce,” he stated flatly.

The heir frowned, his face remorseful.

“If it makes it better, I stopped spying on Superman once I met Clark Kent,” he mumbled.

Clark knew it was a bait, but he asked anyway.

“Why?”

“Because, I fell in love with you.”

A shy smile blossomed over the millionaire’s face. Clark forgot himself for a moment in that perfect curve of his mouth, before recalling he was still supposed to be upset about what Bruce had done.

“Back then, I thought you were some weird alien prince, like the tabloids said,” Bruce continued in a low voice. “You were otherworldly, out of range, and even though you looked human, I didn’t think you knew anything about being human.”

“I know, you told me several times,” Clark reminded him, a barely detectable lilt in his tone.

Bruce cringed.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he said. “It doesn’t make it right, but that was why I didn’t thought it mattered if I set up a couple of thousand radiation sensors in Metropolis. I didn’t even think I was going to get any results. At first, the readings seemed random, but then, I saw that you had a very specific route back at night, to an apartment block down town. I thought you might have someone you visited at night. The thought seemed so foreign to me, because I only saw the alien part, you know? It blew my mind that you could have a girlfriend, or...”

Bruce swallowed.

“Anyway, it had been a long night and I needed a drink, and somehow I ended up on that block where there had been a lot of activity, but the houses were so big and numerous, I remember thinking, ‘I’m never going to find him here’, and then I stepped into the bar down the street for a night cap, and guess who I find.”

Bruce shook his head, smiling sadly.

“I think I kind of understood after a while, but I suppressed it. I made excuses. I thought, ‘it can’t be him, Clark grew up in Kansas’, ‘Clark has a mother named Martha’, ‘Superman would never stutter like that, or say words so softly’. Little things that kept myself in the dark.”

Clark crossed his arms over his chest. Bruce looked really sad when he finally looked up at him again.

“Clark, please say something,” he pleaded. 

The reporter gave him a thoughtful look.

“Did you sell Luthor the tech only, or the data as well?” Clark asked.

Bruce blinked, and exhaled.

“I just sold him the tech itself, but he has been in possession of it for almost a year, and he has already given away his cards by kidnapping me after tracking your radiation signal back to the manor.”

“So he might have gathered a lot of information already.”

“Correct,” Bruce nodded.

“Where do you think he keeps it?”

The millionaire gave him a somewhat condescending look.

“Since this isn’t the nineteen fifties anymore, Clark, the information could be anywhere. It might be kept on a small memory card or USB stick and carried with him at all times, or copied and sold to a hundred other villains.”

Bruce’s jaw locked at the thought, no doubt considering it before.

“I know Luthor,” Clark huffed, “he doesn’t share. He will have it stationary, somewhere, and probably cover it all in lead and kryptonite.”

Bruce looked at him, the cogs turning inside his head.

“I could get into such a place,” Bruce said, “since the kryptonite won’t affect Batman.”

“But there will be henchmen, and your rib’s still broken.”

“Hey,” Bruce blurted, “no peeking.” 

Clark gave him a stern look.

“Sorry, sorry,” the heir said, holding his hands up. “I mean, that you should not fight Luthor alone like that.”

Clark nodded.

“You are right,” he said. 

“Good,” Bruce said.

“That’s why we both should go,” Clark continued.

Bruce scrunched his face up, the way he did when he was against something, his jaw moving forward a little.

“There will be kryptonite again,” he warned in a low voice.

“I know,” Clark said, nodding grimly.

“It might be dangerous.”

Clark straightened up to his full height and moved towards Bruce. The heir shied away a little and started asking what he was doing, before Clark got all the way up to him. Clark smirked at the way the heir’s heartbeat raced in his presence.

“I’m impervious to bullets,” he said, his face only a few inches from the millionaire’s. “I can jump higher than a building. I can fly and shoot laser out of my eyes. I have super hearing and super sight and a fortress in the Arctic. I’m Superman. Danger is my middle name.”

Bruce’s eyes had turned hooded, his pupils blown. Clark grinned. 

“God, you are just toying with me, aren’t you?” Bruce whined.

“Not at all,” Clark murmured, breath ghosting against Bruce’s lips. “I’m very angry with you, but we can talk about you can make it up to me later. First, we are going to get that data back.”

“By working together?”

“Yes.”

Bruce sighed.

“Was this your plan all along?" he whispered. "You can tell me, Clark, I won’t hold it against you.”

“How could it be, mr Wayne?” Clark asked innocently. “You are in my workplace and in my boss’ office. I didn’t set this up, you did.”

Bruce scowled at him.

“God I hate you,” he said and closed the final inches between them by locking their mouths together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a kudos if you like this! <3


	8. Arsonist's lullaby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman sets a building on fire and speaks to the mayor of Metropolis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, sorry about the lack of smut in this story, I sure hope this chapter makes up for it somewhat.
> 
> This is the last of this series. I might revisit them in the future but for now, the rest is up to your imagination ;)
> 
> The chapter title is the title of Hozier's song with the same name.

“Take them back?”

The millionaire smiled his most winning smile.

“Mayor Bishop,” Bruce Wayne said, “I know Lex Luthor owns them, but I constructed them. I do not need your permission to take them down, nor his, since he is technically a fugitive of the law.”

“But the meters were supposed to measure air pollution over a five length period of time,” the woman in gray in front of him said, a concerned look on her face. “They have only been up for a little more than two years. We have investors, budgets to cut back on fossilized fuel, people that depend on the results...”

Bruce gave her an unpatient look.

“I don’t have time for this,” he stated, looking out the window. “I will be happy to replace every single one of those meters, I told you on the phone driving over here.”

The lady looked back up at him, like she wanted to tell him but changed her mind at the last second. Bruce’s eyes narrowed, suspicion blossoming in his mind. He leaned in closer, in case they were surveilled.

“Did someone threaten you?” he asked, keeping his voice low. 

“Oh, heavens no!” the woman exclaimed, smiling, a little flush on her cheeks by his proximity. “About air pollution meters, mr Wayne? My, you are a bit dramatic, aren’t you?”

She giggled and punched him on the arm, no doubt flustered from him being so close. He let his unconcerned smile slide back on as he leaned back against her massive desk until she could get her features in order. 

“Sorry, mayor Bishop, but things are in motion here,” he murmured, watching her blush again. “I would just be interested in knowing why you won’t have me replacing them?”

She looked away for a moment.

“Mr Wayne,” she said, “have you had any contact at all with Superman?”

The question surprised him.

“I’ve might have visited a charity gala or two where he was a guest of honor,” Bruce mused, a little guarded. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m mayor of this town, so naturally, I’ve shook his hand a couple of times,” the mayor said. “He was very positive towards the initiative to clear the air, especially down town.”

The mayor stopped, hesitating. Bruce sighed. He knew where this were going.

“You can tell me,” he said, putting his hands over hers.

The mayor bit her lip.

“What if he disapproves? He is this town’s hero, I can’t make him... not like me. My predecessor, mayor McElroy, he told me to go through any major change with Superman first, like an extra security. He haven’t been around much since I started, and I don’t know how to get in touch with him.” 

Bruce nodded. The mayor looked up, and seemed to remember who she was talking to.

“I’m sorry, but if you want all the meters replaced, that is my answer. Talk to Superman first.”

Bruce’s smile was satisfactory as he let go of her hands. 

“I will do that,” he said, adding: “I’m not sure where I would find him though.”

“That makes two of us,” the lady smiled apologetically.

“Well, I must be off,” Bruce said, shrugging into his tan coat. “Thank you for your help.”

“I hope you find him,” she said.

“Don’t worry about me, mayor Bishop,” Bruce said and wrapped his scarf tight around his neck. “I have my metods. Good day.” 

~ooo~

The bricks were cold against Superman’s back, and even though he didn’t need to stay warm, he still grunted a little and arched his back against the prickly feeling. Batman looked over at his face, worriedly, the cowl a little damaged from tumbling around.

“You okay?” he mouthed.

“God yes,” Superman breathed, his cheeks flushed. “Don’t stop.”

Batman grinned and swallowed him up again, the stretchy fabric of Superman’s suit bending against the black leather, sending shivers along his back. Batman reached back and caressed the lower parts of his buttocks, rubbing between his legs. Superman moaned as the tip of his head touched the roof of the dark clad man’s mouth, and Batman chuckled playfully.

“Good thing the bad guys are already been caught, or that would definitely have ruined the stake out.” 

“Yes, that definitely would have been something for the papers,” Superman agreed, slouching back against the wall. 

The stake out had been a nightmare, in more than one sense. Clark had flown to the manor the night after Bruce had visited the Planet, they had located the place they’d thought Luthor might be hiding, and then just sort of waited around outside to see if they were right, not wanting to risk anything.

“Can you hear anything?” Batman had asked, his senses on full alert, and Clark wasn't sure what to say, because the long separation from the man he loved had clearly taken its toll. He could hear, but all he heard was Bruce's heartbeat, his breathing. He could smell, but all he could smell was the scent Bruce emitted, the musk mixed in with leather and sweat. He almost wished he was exposed to kryptonite again because he felt so distracted by Bruce, an almost insane wave of want and coiling heat in his stomach making it hard for him to focus on anything else.

“Superman?” he heard, and then, lower, “Clark? Snap out of it.”

“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat, focusing on the house in front of them. “Sorry.”

It was a normal looking building but Clark knew there was more to it. No where in Metropolis besides the radiology apartment had such a large amount of lead in its walls - it figuratively stank of criminality. 

“No one is moving,” Batman had growled after thirty minutes. “No guards or anything. I’m going in.”

His low voice only made it harder for Superman to let go. He swallowed and nodded. There was a softness in Batman’s eyes as he regarded him, and he reached out and patted him on the arm. 

“Don't worry, I’ll be back soon.”

“You better be,” Superman said.

Batman just smiled impishly and swinged soundlessly over the edge of the apartment block where they had been standing. Superman watched the black shadow move towards the door, kicking it it a couple of times until the door bulged and fell down. He could hear the surprised screams off the people inside being knocked over and wished he could help, but he had promised to stay away unless people were running away from the building, in case there were more of that pesky kryptonite inside.

There were silence after that and Superman cursed the lead, making him not see what was going on. Then there was a lick of fire, a crackling sound, and Superman watched in horror as the doorway Batman had stepped into were enveloped in flames. He jumped down to ground level, ready to run inside, already faintly feeling the effects of the kryptonite radiating from it. Bruce’s heartbeats, as well as many other’s, were laboured, but then he tumbled outside along with Luthor’s henchmen, the men coughing from the smoke.

“Come on, we need to get out of sight,” Batman growled as he ran past him, and Superman didn’t care, he picked Batman up in his arms and jumped. Batman clamped onto him and Superman couldn’t stop himself from grabbing him closer as the wind that flew past them extinguished the few remaining embers on his suit.

He stopped when they could land safely on a roof not so far from the flaming construction. Superman looked back and made sure no one was injured before turning back to the man in his arms.

“How did it go in there?”

Batman didn’t answer, just grabbed Superman closer, breathing hard. Superman put his arms around him. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“...it’s okay, just... give me a head’s up next time, please,” Batman said, clearing his throat, turning to rest his forehead against Superman’s chest for a second.

He then slowly disentangled himself to look over at the fire he had created.

“The place was full of people guarding it and a bunch of hard drives. I think you were right about Luthor, he wouldn’t be smart enough to keep a backup or know that you would have help.”

Superman nodded, but still kept as much of his body as he could against the vigilante, mesmerized by the way his eyelashes flicked, hyper aware of how his lips moved as he spoke. He had been so scared that Bruce might have had perished in the flames, just the few seconds where it might had been a possibility, and now that fear turned into want, wanting to touch, to hold, to keep. He didn’t know how to put it into words, or how to stop. Bruce seemed to finally notice, and looked over at him.

“What are you...?” he murmured softly, and pushed a little against the strong arms around him. 

It made the hero let him go, reluctantly, but still keep close by, his nails digging into the palms of his hands.

“Sorry,” he said, “I just, I was scared you... hm.” 

He straightened up a little, clearing his throat. Batman looked up at him, not moving away, his eyes curious behind the black makeup.

“Maybe we shouldn’t work together,” Superman continued, in an attempt to create some distance. “Watching you is very distracting, and I’m just not used to that.”

Batman’s grin was savage as he regarded the hero trying to gather himself. Superman was shivering a little, though, as he had explained before, he didn’t get cold. The vigilante moved a little closer, crooking his head.

“I’m fine, you know,” he said, and there was this shift in the blue-and-red clad hero when he looked back at Batman, confirming his suspicion. “You can see for yourself.” 

Superman looked conflicted, a rare occurrence.

“You were worried about me?” Bruce guessed, moving closer, nudging him a little with his shoulder.

Superman bowed his head, still shivering, and pressed his nose into the bend of Batman’s neck.

“Yeah,” he breathed against the suit, inhaling the scent of soot and fire. “Yeah, of course I was.”

Batman took his hands and squeezed them tightly.

“I’m here,” he said, “and remember, I do this all the time. You didn’t worry about me before.”

“I try not to, but you were in there a long time,” Superman said against his neck. “Seeing it is a whole different thing than hearing or seeing the bruises later.”

“Well, I’m not even bruised,” Batman stated, resting his cheek against Superman’s, placing his hands on his back. “You feel that? Not a scratch. Come on, breathe.”

Superman took a couple of steadying breaths. Batman listened for a second, and then slowly started trailing kisses up his neck towards the hero’s ear.

“Someone could see us,” Superman whispered, longing in his voice. 

“Let’s just move away from the edge then,” the man in black said, and Superman hummed as he was nudged towards the middle of the roof. 

The heroes were pretty high up, and there were only taller buildings on one side, so Batman pulled Superman with him to the other side, kissing and touching him through the thin fabric.

“Damn it, how do you even get into these things,” Batman muttered as he pushed Superman hard against the brick wall, hand against the outside of the suit, rubbing against the hardening length between his legs.

“It’s a body suit,” Superman panted, bending down to kiss Batman’s neck.

“Would you mind if I ripped it apart?” Batman murmured.

There was a ripping sound as the dark glove teared through and touched the skin inside. Superman suddenly found he had trouble breathing again, for different reasons than before.

“Be my guest,” he gasped as he felt another shot of pleasure travel up his spine, making him grip harder at the kevlar on Batman’s shoulders. Batman chuckled around him and pressed back, swallowing him up.

The bricks were cold, yes, but Superman didn’t notice, as the coiling warmth inside him were making his blood boil and his body tremble. When his knees weakened and he toppled over, he dragged Batman with him, a heavy klink of metal against the gravel covered roof. Batman coughed under him, and flipped him over so he was on top. Superman didn’t mind. 

“I never understood that about you,” Batman said, his hands on his butt, grinding against him, his mouth on his ear, whispering. “You have all this power, and you give it up so easily. You roll over on your back in a heart beat, like a kitten.”

“No one has ever referred to me as a kitten before,” Superman laughed.

“Well, now I have,” Batman growled and pressed his mouth down over his lover’s cock again, and Superman was lost, breathing in little bursts, turning into moans when the vigilante pressed two fingers into him, moving them rhythmically as he kept his pace up with his mouth as well. Superman could feel the seams of the black glove scrape inside him and knew he would burst at any time, from just that knowledge, and he fought against it by trying to think of something, anything, as Batman scissored his fingers inside him, fitting a third finger inside, letting go of his dick and looking up at the wrecked hero.

“If I knew you liked fingering that much, I would have done it sooner,” he hissed, his cheeks flushed. “You are so beautiful like this, I wish we were in a bed somewhere where I could fuck you properly.”

Superman peeled an eye open.

“That can be arranged you know,” he panted. “Are you ready?”

“Ready for what?” Batman said, but they were already in the air.

“I could get used to that,” the vigilante said as soon as he stood on solid ground again in Clark’s dark kitchen. 

Bruce pulled his cowl off and Clark was already kissing him again, deep, wet kisses, pressing him up against the wall, removing item after item as Bruce got the stretchy blue suit off him, grinding up against his groin, their breath’s mingling as more and more skin was exposed. The boots were easy, the kevlar suit might have some weird indents that looked suspiciously like fingers had bore into them, but by the time they got to the bedroom they were both naked. Clark’s eyes were dark, his pupils blown, as he stretched out on the bed under Bruce. Their mouths crashed together and Clark’s hands ghosted over Bruce’s hair, shoulders and sides as the heir slowly began stretching him again, Clark’s breath turning labored, little moans escaping him as Bruce added a third and a fourth finger inside him, keeping his rhythm steady, panting into his mouth. Clark could have stayed like that forever, his body coursing with pleasure every time Bruce passed over that particular spot inside him, making his body relax. There was a sound somewhere, too oily to come from him or Bruce, and then he felt the wet substance cover his groin, slick and cold.

“Too much?” Bruce said, feeling him clench down against the chill traveling through his body. “I always assume it’s better with too much lube than too little.”

“It’s good,” Clark breathed.

Bruce had already fitted four fingers inside him without lube, why would he need... oh. 

“I just don’t want to hurt you,” the heir panted.

“You can’t hurt me,” Clark panted as he squirmed against the fingers inside him lubing him up. 

“I know you are... impenetrable and all that noise, “ Bruce huffed as he pulled his fingers out slowly. “That doesn’t mean that you can’t feel it.” 

Clark moved closer to him, straddling the man he loved, pushing their chests together, his breaths deeper now. He could see how he affected his lover, their cocks hard and warm between them as Bruce grabbed his slick ass. Bruce looked like he wanted to say something more, some caution about something, but Clark didn’t want to hear it, just lined himself up and pushed Bruce inside. Breathing and adjusting, he relished in the full feeling of being stretched by something bigger than fingers. In the dark beneath him, Bruce sighed and started breathing harder as Clark wiggled and started to move up and down. Bruce grabbed his ass harder and Clark moaned and sped up, making his lover twitch inside him, throwing him over the edge, grabbing at the bed frame. It bent as he came, his fingers twisting the metal like it was twigs. He fell backwards, Bruce following and still pushing into him, and it was wonderful and maddening all at once. 

“Don’t stop,” he gasped as Bruce slowed down, and the millionaire grinned and set a faster pace, and Clark cried out as he felt Bruce twitch inside him again, squirming as he felt the millionaire stiffen and climax inside of him, warmth filling him, making him arch his back again in pleasure. The wave ebbed out and Clark felt content as the heir put his head down against his shoulder. They rested in silence for a bit.

“Clark, this might be a weird thing to say right now,” Bruce mumbled drowsily against his chest, “but will you marry me?”

Clark’s heart almost skipped a beat, and he fought the sleep threatening to take him under to turn his head towards Bruce.

“You still want to?”

“Yeah. Of course.”

Bruce opened an sleepy eye towards him.

“I love you and I want you to marry me,” he stated, stubbornly.

“I love you too, Bruce, and yes, I’d love to marry you, it’s just...”

“Mmmh, too much exposure, I know. I thought, just Alfred and your mom if she wants to. A small, civil wedding.”

Clark smiled and scooped him up closely in his arms.

“The press will eat us up,” he pondered.

“Was that a yes?” Bruce perked up, a hopeful tone in his voice.

“It’s crazy, but of course it’s a yes,” Clark beamed. “No one could say no to you.”

Bruce almost purred in his arms, a happy sigh emitting from his lips as they snuggled closer together. 

“Say that again,” Bruce said, his voice slurred.

“‘No one could say no to you’?” 

“No no, before...”

Clark kissed his hairline.

“‘Yes, I will marry you’?”

“And before...”

Clark moved his mouth directly behind his ear.

“I love you.”

Bruce’s mouth turned upwards as he hummed contently.

“That’s the one...” he whispered as he fell asleep, and Clark with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos are free and very much appreciated<3


	9. Bonus material: Alternate ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate ending - this would have been chapter 7, but I thought it was too... boring. Text heavy. Not enough explicit content. 
> 
> Idk. Maybe you like it better.

Bruce Wayne had always been fascinated with Superman. The hero had started to appear in Metropolis around the same time he came back to Gotham after training in the Himalayan mountains. Bruce had been alone, anxious, unsure what to do as an heir of a million dollar, multinational industry, unfamiliar with the world he was supposed to be a part of. 

He had researched the world around him, a little uncertain if he should stay, until he picked up a small article mentioning a hero in red and blue appearing in the neighboring town. Over the following weeks, he learned more and more about the hero, rejecting some of his behavior and taking other parts to heart. An idea emerged in his mind, to help the people out, not by sending them money, but by cleaning up, as a hero would. Like Superman. But his face were recognizable, he wasn’t some alien. To his advantage, Bruce had money, he had knowledge. He could be just as great, or even greater, than anyone. Greater than Superman. 

The alien... his face was beautiful, like one of Michelangelo’s statues. Bruce dreamed about him at night. Not every night, of course, just sometimes, especially after that article by Lois Lane. Alfred seemed amused by his ward having a small obsession with the hero when he was really supposed to build his empire. They never discussed it though.

Bruce Wayne, the lost sheep, made his entry into society, and a couple of nights later, so did the masked vigilante.

Whenever Bruce had a errand in Metropolis, he would look for the flying man. His heart would burst when he passed over them, he, Bruce Wayne, a man normally not affected by anything, and definitely not starstruck. Nope. Never. The fact that he shouted and his eyes got wet was part of the disguise as a ignorant playboy. His dreams of soaring high in the sky did not inspire the grappling hooks or the Batwing. 

Of course not.

The alien simply seemed like the ideal, perfect and completely unobtainable. Powerful and strong, no need to eat or sleep, like normal humans. Human, but better, like the answer to people’s prayers. Someone to look up to. 

And then, he was just gone. 

The media spoke of him being in pursuit of his old planet, a noble and just cause, as with everything he did. It didn’t stop Bruce from having a small personal crisis.

After three years, he told himself he had moved on. Besides, his family needed him. He was the hero the people of Gotham deserved. He had a son, a company to take care of. He didn’t need the kind of insecurity an inhuman alien brought, there one day, gone the next. It had been a childish obsession, and now he had to put away such childish things.

And that’s what he did.

When Superman came back, he knew it was stupid, but he almost felt betrayed. He resented the alien being so much, he almost didn’t care about why he had left, how his search had gone. When his sons showed interest, he pushed them to pursue other tasks, lead them off the path, to keep them safe. There was no point in pursuing the unobtainable. 

~ooo~

As an experienced hero of Gotham, it should have occurred to him that Superman would contact him. Despite his esteemed intelligence though, he was taken by surprise when Superman actually stood in front of him that first time.

“Batman,” he had greeted, his voice booming, his feet barely touching the ground, muscles swelling, that perfect hair in even waves across his forehead, and god, if Bruce had been prone to fainting, he would have, right then and there.

To gain some sort of semblance, to reestablish control, the only way had been to stay in character, to be Batman, because Bruce was flipping out. So he pushed all of that away and addressed Superman like he would a threat. 

“Superman,” he greeted, and that had been it, he could handle that, and then that became the way he greeted Superman, like the way Batman handled everything else, with suspicious dispassion. Superman seemed bummed out every time Batman didn’t respond to his friendliness, and Bruce thought the alien just wasn’t used to anyone ever treating him with anything less than awe. After all, how could people be expected to do anything else. Well, he was more than a man, and he would teach the man feeding on sunlight that you can’t always expect people to act the way you want them to.

The hero from Metropolis always asked him to join him though, that they would be stronger if they joined forces. Bruce didn’t want to admit it at first, but the idea didn’t sound all bad, from a strictly professional point of view. The thought of being able to get some time off, to let some one else watch over his city, or someone to patrol with that he hadn’t taught himself, didn’t sound so bad. But he needed to be in charge. He needed to know he could trust the flying menace. That he wasn’t going away again. 

So he spent some time in Metropolis, looking for spots to put up detectors, or as he promised the mayor, air pollution sensors, free of charge. Then, he built them, a hundred or so, using parts from different manufacturers all over the world, set to track the speed from anything flying as fast as Superman across town. The man moved unlike anything else and everything resembling his speed in the range of two points was entered into a record. After a year of excruciatingly slow data, he could map Superman’s movements, flying to a specific area each night, a apartment complex on the south east parts of down town. 

The new information intrigued him. He mostly flew to the apartment, not from it? The alien didn’t need sleep, so why keep a home in the first place? To pretend to be human? Was he seeing someone? Someone who wasn’t appalled by the differences in their physique? Because there had to be, right? Differences? 

Images flooded Bruce’s head, images of a normally clad man, only slightly taller than everyone else, trudging through the streets of Metropolis, his face obscured by a scarf, his collar turned up against the wind, his hands deep in his pockets, on his way to his normal day job somewhere, as a butcher, a real estate agent, a horse trainer, dog walker, electrician, plummer... interior decorator, maybe. Just an average guy, someone who didn’t look different from anyone else, put away somewhere, until duty called.

“Son of a...” Bruce whispered.

It hadn’t even crossed his mind that Superman could be anything else than his alien self, spending all his time either saving people or basking in the sunlight outside the atmosphere. And now his head wouldn’t stop spinning.

“I need a drink,” he said out loud, and stepped out into the Metropolitan night. 

He didn’t need to be in Gotham that night, everyone was remembering his parents deaths and he didn’t feel like going, instead immersing himself in the life of a minor celebrity, buying drinks for everyone at the bar, flirting with some women, trying all of the local bars. He got a ride with some people ten years younger than him and tried not to act his age for a little while. He distinctly remembered them entering a small run down bar, the group dispersing, and him spotting a couple of beautiful blue eyes belonging to a handsome man in his early thirties, dressed in dark green, absorbed by the book in his hands. He looked like someone he knew but he couldn’t put his finger on who, and then another beautiful creature had crossed his path and he had followed her home. The stairs of her house had seemed like just as good as the softest bed, and he didn’t remember anything more of that night after passing out on the marble steps.

~ooo~

Waking up in a bed had been disorienting, but he had woken up in worse places. His headache was horrible, he felt like his brain had detached and floated freely in between his ears, but again, he had survived far worse.

The walls were blue and the windows huge, making slumber impossible. He had stumbled into the bathroom, washed his face, borrowed some deodorant as he went along. The bathroom cabinet held only a toothbrush, tooth paste, the deodorant, and some shower gel, all generic brand, so he deducted the person living there were a man. The towels was clean but frayed, so not a very wealthy man. On the wall in the way to the door hung articles from the Daily Planet, on various political issues, all written by either Lois Lane and Clark Kent or simply by Clark Kent. 

His shoes were neatly placed next to the door, coupled with a pair of indoor slippers, a pair of Converse and a pair of black Oxfords. Everything looked too neat, almost staged, like the person living there rarely used them. Or maybe, Bruce supposed as he reached down to put his own dusty shoes on, he simply took care of his shoes. Everything didn’t have to have a intricate explanation.

“Mr Wayne?” he heard a voice said behind him, and turning around, there he was, Clark Kent, and also Superman.

Given his fascination with the man, he had no problem seeing past the glasses, the big, striped pajama pants, the bare chest, arms and feet... 

Bruce couldn’t help but stare, though he wasn’t supposed to. In front of him was an alien from another world and he had nipples. It was ridiculous. It shouldn’t send thrills down his poor, hungover body. And then, there was nothing, Superman shriveled away, a blinking stuttering Clark taking his place. It was so believable, Bruce realized he must have practiced for years, longer than he had been performing his own playboy-philanthropist act. A way to protect himself, to be invisible. 

It was amazing, and he knew he wasn’t able to compete against Clark Kent, stuttering reporter, but still, he fell into his character, Bruce Wayne - unfazed by anything (TM).

And so, an unlikely dance had begun, something Bruce Wayne wasn’t sure how it came along, but in the car back to Gotham, he rescheduled all his other appointments and spent the day researching Clark Kent. 

It was like being given the keys to a whole other side of the mysterious man. There were school photos, birthday wishes in the local paper, a picture of him and his father winning some prize in a hay market in Kansas. He had always had a little accent and Bruce couldn’t help but laugh at the thought that it wasn’t some weird alien tongue having trouble pronouncing English words but that it could be the Midwestern upbringing shining through all along. He laid back and looked up at the ceiling.

He had to figure out a way to see him again, he just had to, without making it obvious it was him. Bruce Wayne could have a good and healthy relationship with Clark Kent, stunningly good looking reporter, whom just happened to be in the right bar at the right time. Right?

Somewhere between their sixth date, a cheesy but cosy boat ride under the stars as the leaves was turning yellow, and their seventh, walking along the river in Metropolis on their way to a dinner, Bruce sort of had a panic attack, because he knew that the longer it took for him to come clean, the longer he would keep the truth from Clark that he knew who he was and why he knew, the lower the possibility of them being able to patch things together. 

But did he really need to tell him? He could keep it a secret, like he did from everyone else. He had his two lives so compartmentalized by now, no one who he hadn’t told ever suspected a thing. Why would Clark? They could still be a couple, forget the whole hero thing for a while. It wasn’t like Clark had told him his secret identity, so why should he?

With Clark, Bruce felt almost normal, something he had never felt, so why let a little lie ruin that?

“What about the... proposal?” Clark asked, his voice low.

They were sitting in Bruce’s study, holding two steaming mugs of black tea, the strongest thing Bruce was allowed to drink after the surgery. Bruce had barely touched his and Clark’s was almost empty. Bruce looked up at him, and then down at his hands, his forehead crinkled. He fidgeted slightly, something Clark had never seen him do.

“I was scared of losing you, and I didn’t know what else to do to show you...”

He quieted, and took a deep breath.

“When I couldn’t sleep, at the docks, I tried to figure out the right words to say if I ever saw you again, to let you know you weren’t so bad for thinking that it would be better if you didn’t tell me, and how I wished I had responded differently, but all I could think about was how things would be different now that there were no more secrets, and I wasn’t sure I could deal with that. I was so selfish.”

Bruce quieted for good this time, not daring to say another word. Clark sighed and placed his thick glasses on the mahogany desk. Bruce sat on the other side if it, patting some imaginary strands of hair away, which Clark knew meant he was nervous. One of his ancestors hung on the wall behind him, staring down cooly at the scene. Clark found himself wondering if these kind of things ever happened when that guy was around.

“So, in summary,” he said, slowly standing up, “I knew, and you knew, and both of us were scared of telling the other, so in the end, both of us didn’t say and were miserable rather than tell the other our secrets?”

Clark walked around the desk to stand closer to Bruce, the heir still looking down at his hands, fretful and tense. 

“It sounds like we both might be very afraid of not being able to keep each other around.”

Clark took Bruce’s hands in his, and he turned his gaze up, his eyes wide. 

“How about less secrets?” Clark said. “Just trying to keep the other updated as things develop, trying to help each other out.” 

“I’d like that,” Bruce said, a small smile turning his cheek up. “I’d like that a lot.”

Clark fell to his knees and hugged the other man, and at the same time he heard a small ‘yes!’ behind the door to the room.

“Hold on,” he whispered, and moved to the door in the blink of an eye. He opened it and three kids rolled out in front of him. Behind them, the butler did his best to regain his composure.

“Tea, mr Kent?”

Behind him, Bruce laughed, and it wasn’t a pretentious laugh, but one of true joy. 

“Cousin,” the blonde girl said, “ is uncle Clark staying for dinner?”

“Are we going to see more of you now?” the older boy asked. 

The younger boy just looked happy. Clark looked back at Bruce, and Bruce nodded.

“I think you will,” the heir said, and smiled at Clark.

“Which one?” they said.

“Both.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, please leave a kudos<3<3<3


End file.
